Destiny Finds A Way
by snow-queen919
Summary: The Final Battle is over. Harry's life should be perfect but it isn't. His girlfriend left him and he still hasn't found closure for his losses. Can Hermione be the answer to his prayers? Or will his shortsightedness ruin all prospect of real happiness?
1. The Final Farewell

Destiny Finds a Way -A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

_Fan Fiction Storyline Copyright © Issa/snowqueen919_

_Harry Potter et al. © JK Rowling_

Chapter I - The Final Farewell

Harry Potter sat on the floor beside his trunk in his house dormitory. The trunk's lid was still open. Only one item, a fluid-like, silver invisibility cloak, yet remained to be placed inside it until it was locked again. Harry held the cloak to his chest, wondering vaguely why he hadn't put it in yet.

_I should be happy right now._ He thought, trying to make himself glad that his NEWT's (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) were finally over. But he just couldn't. He felt as if his stomach had gone missing and he was simply empty without it. He only had a few days before graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and after which he'd become a fully qualified wizard. He'd be scott free! No more homework, no more detention, no more slimy-haired arch enemies, no more sadistic teachers, no more studying, no more magic restrictions (students weren't allowed to do magic outside school) and certainly no more tests.

Harry let out a hollow laugh. These all seemed to be petty woes right now… now that he was facing an uncertain future well beyond everything he had been used to for seventeen years of his life. And at the same time those woes were probably going to be some of the things he would miss along with all the friendships and relationships he had forged over the years. He would be giving up so much for a world that held no guarantees.

Even now he wondered if he had made the right choices. And it weighed heavily on him. It was funny how just when you've freed yourself of a mass of worries and tiresome burdens, new ones come to take their place. Was it really wise, passing up his original plans of becoming an Auror? He had worked so hard for so long, after all. It was no mean feat to qualify as an Auror. You had to be the best of the best. He had even put up with the inherent horridness of Snape, the Potions Master, to make his grades come up to scratch. Nobody throws work like that away just like that.

But something had changed in him. He could not understand why he did not see it before. Perhaps he did not wish to then. Perhaps he was not ready. Or perhaps he was just inept. He could sometimes be faulted for that, he knew. But more like, maybe, he had been striving for some sort of order and structure… for security… for something that made sense. Very little in his life ever did, after all. And becoming an Auror just seemed… natural. His parents had walked that very same path, he seemed to have a penchant for catching the bad guy, and he had excellent marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

But now… he knew he could not continue on this way he had paved for himself. This change was too great a power pulling him to tread on another. He couldn't explain it but he knew he could not ignore it. At this thought, the images of everything he had to go through for the past year played out in his mind once again. His eyes began to prickle and his throat started to burn. _No,_ he thought, _I've had enough of that._ He stood up, ran his fingers through the scarlet hangings of his four poster bed and sighed.

"Harry, man, what in blazes d'you think you're doing?" came a voice from the door. Ron Weasley looked as if he'd won a marathon. He entered the room, his head only a few inches from brushing against the ceiling, being so tall and gangly.

"I---I was just… packing," Harry said hastily, throwing his father's invisibility cloak into the trunk at last, shutting it closed.

"Packing? Isn't it a bit early for that?" Ron furrowed his brow. Harry was about to try and give some plausible explanation but Ron plowed over his attempts, "Well, we're all out by the lake. I just came in to get you," his best friend explained, still grinning from ear to ear. Harry was quite surprised that Ron hadn't gotten lock jaw by now, smiling like that.

"All right… but fix your hair, will you? It's a mess," Harry said, pointing at the mirror beside the door. Indeed, Ron's flaming red hair was everywhere. Harry deduced that Ron had not combed it since he took the tests earlier that day wherein it was a constant sight, seeing him running his hands through it.

"You should talk," Ron raised an eyebrow at his friend as he took a comb out of his bedside cabinet to straighten it out, "We'll wait for you there," he added before he left the dormitory again.

Harry stared at his reflection. No longer was it short and skinny like it was six years ago. Harry Potter had grown up. He was quite tall now and had bulked up a bit over the years, all though he was still quite lean. His face had changed a bit… grew a bit longer, thinner---no longer a child's but a seventeen-year-old's, ready for the world.

But there _were_ things that did not change. _The short, jet black hair that always stuck up at odd angles was still as stubborn as always; refusing any negotiation with the comb to flatten out. There were also his round glasses and the bright green eyes that he had inherited from his mother. Then, of course, the scar. That famous lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead._

This scar was what made Harry even more extraordinary---even for a wizard. It tied him to one of the most notorious powers that ever lived… and the reason Harry's life turned out the way it did. But the Final Battle was over now. They had lost many, be assured, but Harry had finally vanquished the Dark Lord for good. So this year wasn't a _total_ waste.

"Well, nothing I can do about this," Harry said to himself, resigning to that fact that it was impossible to fix his hair and went out onto the grounds to join his friends.

Ron had taken off his socks, shoes, robes and pulled up his pants up till his knees, wading in the lake. Harry's other best friend, Hermione Granger, was sprawled on the grass, watching Ron. She too, had changed. She had become prettier, shapelier and a bit taller too. She was still no supermodel but she was pretty enough… she'd pass. Her brown hair was as bushy as ever, but now she had some sense of tying it neatly in a pony tail.

"Oh _there_ you are, Harry!" she smiled at him, patting a spot of ground beside her, beckoning him to come sit. "I was wondering why you weren't out celebrating with Ron."

"I was… busy," Harry half-lied, squatting down next to her, taking in the sweet summer air.

"Elizabeth's been looking for you," said Hermione, referring to Harry's girlfriend who was a batch lower than them, although she also belonged to Gryffindor house.

"Has she?" said Harry, distracted, staring at the seemingly endless Forbidden Forest on the other side. Even though he had no desire of setting foot in there again… he knew that it was a sight he would soon miss.

"You know, you _ought_ to pay her more attention. You're leaving this year, and you've hardly spent any time with her for the past few months with all the studying we've been doing," said Hermione knowingly.

"Yeah… I know that. She understands, though. Besides… I've been experiencing a bad case of leaving blues---" Harry started but was cut off by the sudden pounding of feet behind them. An attractive girl with long, black hair and an olive complexion was running toward them, a broad grin on her face, carrying a guitar with her.

"Hey, Liz!" Harry stood up. She met him with a hug and a soft kiss on the cheek. It seemed so long ago when he last had one of those from her. His longing to never have to study again, strengthened inside him as he led her over to where he and Hermione had been sitting.

"Ah! This is the life!" Ron exclaimed in ecstasy, finally getting out of the lake. He collapsed and laid himself spread-eagled on the grass.

There were few moments of silence wherein all of them just stared at the infinitely murky depths of the lake. Harry inwardly wished the giant squid come out for a bit, he might be bold enough to pat it goodbye.

"I can't believe you people are leaving me," Liz started, unable to suppress the disappointment in her voice.

"Technically, it's not leaving," Harry pointed out.

"It's leaving, whichever way you look at it, Harry!"

"Well, yes but---"

"Aha! There, you see!"

"You didn't let me finish," Harry rolled his eyes at her. He had almost forgotten how stubborn Liz could be. "We'll come visit often. You'll still have Hogsmeade visits, won't you?"

"Still it won't be the same, will it?"

Harry pursed his lips. He hated admitting Liz was right. She'd always find some way to lord it over him later on. But there was no denying it. The truth never made so much impact until it was spoken out loud, preferably by somebody else. And the truth was that things _wouldn't_ be the same. He wouldn't have the luxury of seeing her everyday. What if she found somebody else? What if she suddenly realized she didn't love him anymore? His insides churned and his heart began hammering wildly in his chest.

As if sensing Harry's distress, Hermione immediately changed the subject, "So, Liz… I'm sure you want to know what our final plans after school are?"

"Y-yes… of course… sure…" Liz said distractedly.

"Well… if all goes well and I get my top grade in the NEWTs, I can get into the Ministry of Magic. The place needs some changing," Hermione said uneasily.

"You don't need to fret about it, Hermione. You'll get that top grade, you're Head Girl now, after all," replied Ron lazily. Hermione was always top of every class and every exam. Everyone was sure the NEWT's were no different.

"So, Harry… are you playing for the Montrose Magpies?" Hermione asked eagerly, trying to keep some sort of decent conversation flowing. And like everyone, she was concerned about Harry's prospects in this league team in particular. They were, after all, the most successful team in the British and Irish League. She was also the one who showed him those ads about early drafting in this Quidditch magazine and pushed him into getting permission to try out instead using the day for the usual trip to Hogsmeade.

"Argh… no. Got the letters this morning but we were so busy… but anyway, they said their roster line-up was already full this year. But I _did_ get a positive reply from Puddlemere United. I'm going to be on their reserve team next year. It's a good thing I tried out for them too as backup," Harry said. He was a tad bit disappointed at not being accepted into his first team of choice but then again, it might settle easier with him at Puddlemere. After all, his old team captain, Oliver Wood, had been playing Keeper for this team for two and a half years and was steadily gaining popularity. Maybe he'd be able to help Harry get into the starting line-up with him?

"That's not so bad," Liz exclaimed, snapping out of her thoughts.

"Bloody brilliant! Free tickets!" Ron chimed enthusiastically.

"What about you, Ron?" Hermione turned to Ron, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him as Harry forced his thoughts roughly back into the conversation, the prickling and burning were starting to subside.

"I dunno, really. Haven't thought about it much," Ron said airily. Obviously his spirits were not to be dampened. He was in heavenly bliss. The Gryffindors had won the House Cup, the Quidditch Cup (Harry was Seeker and Team Captain of their house team) and the exams were over. His future wasn't at the very top of his priority list at the moment.

"Ron! You mean you haven't even applied_ anywhere_?" Hermione exclaimed, thoroughly shocked, "This is your _future_ we're talking about! This isn't some piece of homework that you can worm yourself into handing in late!"

"I _know_, Hermione. _Relax!_ I have all summer… and my marks aren't too shabby, if I do say so myself," said Ron, rolling his eyes at her, waving aside her concerns. Harry knew what was going through his best friend's mind and he smiled in spite of himself. Ron would probably figure out something soon enough. Just not right now.

Hermione puffed up her cheeks angrily but did not reply.

"I'm going to make music when I get out of here," Liz sat up, running her fingers thoughtfully through the strings of her guitar. Slowly, she looked up at them all, her eyes deep and brooding, and said, "You know… this merits a good song. I wrote something last month but you've all been so busy that I couldn't show you. But now I can."

She began to sing, strumming her guitar softly in tune to a slow but peaceful song. Her powerful, clear voice intoxicating Harry, who shivered inexplicably as she hit the high notes. This was part of the reason Harry loved her so much. She always seemed to put him at ease and made his body feel all warm as though he were drinking a hot mug of butterbeer on a cold winter's night whenever she sang. It was almost as if his problems were floating away with her voice. He rested his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes, a soft breeze playing across his face.

_Click, click, click._ One after another, trunks were shut and locked inside Harry's dormitory. Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom, Harry's other roommates, were showing a rare display of sentiment by hugging each other goodbye. All though it seemed to Harry that it was more like they were _bumping_ each other goodbye. Boys will be boys.

"Goodbye, Harry," sandy-haired Seamus sighed, holding out his hand to shake Harry's. But as they clutched each other's hands, Seamus yelled, "Ah! Come 'ere!" and pulled Harry into a bone-breaking bear hug. They patted each other on the back and let go. Seamus shot Harry a very large and obvious wink before going off to break Ron's bones too.

"I want tickets to your first big Quidditch game, you understand?" said Dean sharply from behind. Harry whipped around. Dean was smiling broadly almost as if trying to hide something in that grin. He then punched Harry's arm and ruffled Harry's already messy hair, leaving him looking as though he had a porcupine stuck on his head. Dean was a tall black boy who, like Harry, was raised by muggles. He was a great West Ham Soccer fan but he liked Quidditch a lot too. He said "it was most interesting" when Harry played.

"You can count on it," Harry grinned widely, grasping Dean's hand in a firm handshake.

Neville started blubbering like a baby as he shook Harry and Ron's hands. It was pathetic to see a seventeen year old crying like he was two weeks old but they'd miss Neville, his forgetfulness and the way he got into accidents five times a day. And neither one of them had forgotten the way Neville had come through for them this year. So it was in bittersweet acquiescence that they bid him their valedictions.

"Neville, I need you to do me a favor," Harry said quietly as his roommates started for the door, leaving their luggage to be brought down by the house elves of the castle.

"Anything, Harry," said Neville trustingly, ignoring Ron's imploring calls for both of them to hurry up.

"I need you to be happy and do really well for yourself. If you don't, I'll never speak to you again," Harry exclaimed firmly, as a small grin cracked across his face.

Neville looked slightly taken aback at this pronouncement, all though he nodded determinedly in agreement.

"Now come on, let's get out of here," said Harry, positively beaming now, as Neville echoed his feelings of happiness.

They met Hermione, Lavender Brown (Seamus' girlfriend), Parvati Patil (Dean's girlfriend), Ginny Weasley and Elizabeth down in the common room. They had another lengthy goodbye session before they parted ways. By this time, Harry's surreal feeling was getting ridiculously overwhelming. He felt as if his brain was being fogged by it. And as they left the common room, Harry could almost swear that the Fat Lady was getting teary eyed as she watched them leave.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Liz, and Ginny took the "scenic route" to the vast and well lit entrance hall, glancing at every inch of the castle they could for the last time. Strange thoughts of unfulfilled trouble-making whizzed into Harry's consciousness. Maybe he should leave another swamp in the castle like Fred and George did two years ago or at least something similarly wicked. Maybe he should finally give Mrs. Norris that good, hard kick he always wanted to give that mad old cat then jinx her equally foul owner, Filch. He knew some spanking good ones now, after all. It would be a shame not to put all this knowledge to use. Maybe he could turn Snape into a dung beetle and have him scuttle for his life as Harry chased him with a pestle or at least cage him in a jar and place it beside one of the more atrocious objects lying in the Potions Cupboard. How long would it take for the other teachers to find him?

Possibly these entertaining thoughts were starting to show in Harry's face because it was with some franticness that Hermione pulled him down the stone steps to bid Hagrid farewell before getting into the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade Train Station. It was with final desperation that he took his last gaze at the Great Hall before turning his attention to the Gamekeeper. He wasn't exactly hard to miss.

"Now all of you promise ter write. I won't take not havin' no word from any of yeh," Hagrid said gruffly, valiantly fighting back tears.

"Oh now, Hagrid, you know we'd never do that to you," Hermione assured him.

Hagrid drew himself up to his full height (which was about five times the size of a normal man) and they squished and cramped once again as he seized all of them into a tight bear hug which was no mean feat since they were no longer the size they used to be as children.

"Gawd I'll miss yeh in me classes and visiting me hut. Even if usually means yer all up ter no good."

The others chuckled emptily. Today was all too morose for them to appreciate any comedy.

"I'll miss you," Harry muttered under his breath so only Hagrid could hear. Hagrid's bearded face crinkled into a sad smile. Tears, brimming and shining in his beetle black eyes.

"Well, Hagrid, seeing that you've already had your time to bid these fine young wizards goodbye, I pray you me have a turn?" came a voice from behind them.

"Oh, o' course, Professor McGonagall… o' course," Hagrid replied, stepping back, letting out a loud sniffle.

Professor McGonagall, usually so stern and sharp a woman despite her age, looked quite more like the kind of grandmother that spoils you with sweets behind your parents back as she stood there before them now. There were tears shining in her eyes as she beamed proudly down at all of them.

"I expect only the best from all of you," Professor McGonagall said shakily, dabbing her eyes with a scarlet handkerchief. Then she did something that Harry never thought her capable of doing, she gave each of them a farewell peck on the cheek. Hermione's eyes began to fill with tears as she gave her favorite teacher an extra hug in reply.

"I have something for you all. It's a letter from Professor Dumbledore, rest his soul. I unearthed it among his belongings when I was---oh, when I was cleaning out his office!" cried Professor McGonagall, a fresh wave of tears making its way from her eyes. She handed Harry a short note (though with some effort for she was shaking dreadfully by now) in Dumbledore's loopy handwriting.

Harry took the letter with a selfish sort of uneasiness. His hands were shaking as the parchment touched his fingertips. He wished the others weren't there looking over his shoulder but he dared not tell them this. So with great effort, he steadied his hands and unfolded the note. It read as follows,

Harry, Hermione and Ron,

Greatness is something I have always foreseen in you all three of you. If you are reading this now, that means I have finally gone on my last trip from Hogwarts. Do not worry yourselves too much about me (though an occasional glance into the past would be most appreciated) for the future that is unfolding before you all is something I deem much more pressing.

I shan't make this very long as I think I have imparted enough ramblings on you when I was still able to give them. But I will say one last thing that I pray you take to the greatest of heart and that is; not everything that you have dismissed should be dismissed.

Professor Dumbledore

"What d'you suppose _that_ means?" Ron exclaimed loudly, knitting his brows in confusion.

"I really have no idea but… knowing Dumbledore… it's probably right," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Blimey, even when he's… well… you know… he's _still_ giving us strange advice," whispered Ron, looking anxiously in Harry's direction, no doubt wishing he wouldn't hear this. Harry had always been the one most affected by the former headmaster's demise as he had witnessed it the year before.

But Harry hardly understood these words. He was standing somewhat thunderstruck. He felt a sad sort of despair that Professor Dumbledore himself was no longer present to deliver this message, perplexing as it may be, to him personally. And yet he felt a flicker of happiness at the knowledge that he had in his hands what was perhaps the last thing Dumbledore had ever written. It was almost as if Harry now possessed something solidly part of him.

Harry did not know how long he stood there, unable to move or speak. The others did not bother to disturb him, figuring out that the last thing he wanted right now was some sort of a diversion from his reverie.

But he was given a light pat on the back by Hermione when the conductor started calling for the students to board. Harry mechanically placed the note carefully into his pocket, they all embraced and said their last goodbyes and left, finally, for their carriages.

Harry looked sadly out of his window as the Hogwarts Express sped further and further away from Hogwarts. Away from his first true home… away from the place he first had friends… away from the place where there was magic in every nook and cranny… and away from the place that housed the greatest memories and adventures of his life.

That place had molded him, broke him and transformed him into who he was miraculously alive to be today. It was not easy seeing it disappear from his vision. Things would never be the same again. Harry clutched his stomach. There was that feeling again---except that this time it was much worse. The whole thing felt like it was being dissolved by acid.

_At least you're rooming with Ron now_, Harry tried to distract himself. He wouldn't have to lay his eyes upon the vile forms of his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Cousin Dudley for as long as he lived. Harry had been forced to live with these relations ever since his parents' murder but all those years, no matter how safe he may have been, he resented everyday he spent in their care.

The Dursleys were what one calls the medieval sort of Muggles; meaning that they had a very medieval approach to magic. They feared and reviled any form of it and they treated Harry like some freak that needed to be kept a secret lest he show any implication that their family was the least bit abnormal.

But the thought of forever escaping them was not enough this time, to cheer Harry up. He was thinking bitterly that maybe… maybe if his Godfather, Sirius was still alive… if he was here… if he hadn't been murdered by that damned Deatheater… maybe Harry would finally, really be living with _him_. He found it very kind of Ron to offer him a place to stay before he could get one of his own but… that was different. He would still be haunted by the home he could've had and possibly should've had. Sirius was the closest thing to a father he ever had… if he was living with him… it would be like having a part of his parents back. But Sirius had gone to join them. What was worse was that he couldn't even visit Sirius' grave---because there was no grave to visit. Nobody knew where Sirius' body was. All anyone knew was that it disappeared through that veiled arch in the Department of Mysteries. Nobody knew how to get it back and they would never be allowed back in the Department of Mysteries anyway. Harry fiercely fought back the tears aching to come out of his eyes. The bitterness and the innate misery surrounding these truths coupled Harry's desolation of leaving school.

How many nights had he lost sleep and broken into silent tears? Could he have done anything? Could he still do something? Was his godfather really lost to them? Had he not been hit by a red light and not a green one? Did he not prove that it was indeed possible to sneak into the Department of Mysteries? What about those other people he had lost? Could he not have done anything about _their_ deaths? He couldn't take it. All these fatalities… all this suffering… all revolving around him…

He breathed in deeply, trying to steady himself as well as his racing heartbeat, as he twirled his phoenix feather wand in his shaking hands---which had grown five times over since he first held it in his eager hands---absentmindedly. He sighed and tore his eyes away from the window. He couldn't even see the silhouette of the castle any more. This was all much too depressing for him to take.

"Hey… try and lighten up, will you?" Elizabeth said, seating herself beside him and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. "I'm not feeling my best either. At least one of us should be a bit more cheerful."

Harry stroked her soft, slender arm and looked into her beautiful dark brown eyes---her innocent brown eyes which had not seen as he'd seen and saved from the horrors of knowing. How lucky she was and how he envied her for her ignorance. Slow was the coming of his speech but plunged in a well of deep emotion when it finally came forth. "How can I?"

She could not reply. He did not think she knew what to say. She just looked at him dispiritedly then rested her head on his shoulder. Harry put in a valiant effort to smile then kissed her lightly on the top of her head, taking in her sweet scent of spring blossoms. Then there was a scraping at their compartment door and a voice said irritably, "Are we _interrupting_ something?"

It was Hermione, Ron and Ginny.

"Oh this is precious!" Ron gushed mockingly, causing Harry to try and throw a playful punch at him which unfortunately missed.

His friends took their seats around them Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother and then began combing her long red hair which now reached her waist. Harry found it easier to distract himself in the company of a lot of his friends. And the noisier they got the better. Harry tried to immerse himself in conversation with them, ignoring the incessant nagging at the back of his head.

They talked about a great many things like who the new Minister of Magic might be, whether Ron's dad was finally going to get a promotion or at least a long overdue pay raise, if the giants were finally going to get their freedom, and other such topics. Though they avoided the ones they probably wanted to talk about most. The wounds were too fresh to open again.

In the middle of the journey, they started a game of Exploding Snap and things seemed to be looking up as they settled into their eighth game. But the cheerful mood was tested when the three most depraved beings decided to barge in on their happiness.

"Oh look! Its scar head and his posse!" said the pale boy in the middle who had sleek white, blond hair. He was more spiteful than ever in light of the defeat of Voldemort and the arrest of the Death Eaters, which just happened to include his father.

"You've got _some_ nerve coming in here, Draco Malfoy, when you're _obviously_ outnumbered. Even _if_ you've got your two cronies with you," Ginny raised her eyebrows at him then nodded her head toward to the two large, muscular boys on either side of Draco, looking like menacing bodyguards. They were so big now that they could hardly fit through the door.

"Shut up, Weasley filth. I might just ask Crabbe and Goyle here to give your pretty face a big crack," Draco retorted, gesturing at the two large boys.

Ron jumped up with lightning-fast speed, followed by Harry and Hermione, in case they needed to hold Ron back. He might just slog Malfoy. Harry privately hoped he would but then again, Malfoy wasn't worth the effort.

"You'd better be careful, Malfoy or I might get sick enough of you that and do _more_ than just kick you. How does ramming my foot up your saggy ass sound?" Ron snapped, his face contorted in rage.

"Well it might be more comfortable up my ass than in that bedraggled excuse for a shoe your wearing now. How long have _those_ been in the family, Weasley? A century?" Malfoy countered. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled automatically.

This was just too much for Ron. Malfoy had always been cracking sick jokes on Ron's family's financial instability since they first met. They never failed to get to Ron. But luckily Harry was able to hold him back however barely, because Ron looked like he wanted to break all hell loose on Malfoy. Though it soon turned out, Ron didn't have to. Hermione pulled out her wand, muttered a few words and successfully turned Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle into revolting, talking pink bunnies. They squeaked when they saw their pink fur, and hopped out of the compartment. Their shrill voices could be heard arguing and cussing all the way down the corridor.

"Stupid gits," Hermione hissed after them, shutting the door.

"You'll think they'll be able to turn back? It'd get you into a lot of trouble if they don't," Ginny asked Hermione.

"Yeah, they'll be sorted out. The spell only lasts two hours… I think," Hermione smiled devilishly.

"Who really cares if they turn back or not?" asked Ron.

"Yeah… I think they look better as pink bunnies anyway," Harry observed. This pronouncement was followed by chuckles of agreement from his friends.

They then spent the rest of the journey was restarting their game of Exploding Snap which unfortunately exploded before they could put the last card on top. When they reached the station, they had yet another extremely long session of bidding and hugging each other goodbye but they eventually managed to part ways after promising to keep in touch.

It had all gone by so quickly… just yesterday, it seemed, Harry was in front of this very barrier in between platform nine and ten for the first time (you had to walk through the apparently solid wall to get onto platform nine and three-quarters where the Hogwarts Express was stationed). So this chapter in his life was finally ending. Harry just hoped he had it in him to start the next one.

And yes, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle eventually turned back into their original nasty states.


	2. Raspberries

Chapter II – Raspberries

Harry pulled his navy-blue Puddlemere United Quidditch robes tighter around him. It was chilly out that night. Harry deeply wished he hadn't forgotten to bring his cloak but he did not want to turn back to the campsite and get it. He knew that if he did, he might not be able to manage coming back. The lads would keep forcing another butterbeer or another shot of Ogden's Old Firewhisky on him and other such various clever ways to keep him in their company. The only reason Harry was able to get away was because he had slipped out, telling them he needed to go to the loo.

So it was with a strange feeling of guilt and pleasure that Harry sat on the damp grass in the vast golden stadium where he played his fist ever international Quidditch game, breathing in the cool night air. They played and won against the Pride of Portee and were now just a little closer to victory in this year's European Cup. Harry was still half-expecting that he wake up to find out all this had all been one merely fantastic dream.

He stared at the emblem of his team (two crossed golden bulrushes) then looked the starry sky winking above him. He remembered everything… how at the last tense minutes before the match started, their Seeker, Crandlewick Montimmer, refused to play because one of their Beaters, Bradley Zibberwalter, called him a "selfish, big-headed twit". His reaction resulting from the comment rather proved the insult true but Harry was kind of glad the Montimmer was what he was otherwise their Captain, Odwin Wakjobe, (after much persuasion from Wood) wouldn't have called Harry off the bench and let him have his chance as Seeker.

He remembered when the commentator called out their names, "Zibberwalter, Wood, Paris, Wakjobe, Prittleby, Shrigger and… what's this? We have a change in line-up! _Harry Potter_ will be playing Seeker instead of Montimmer!" The crowd gasped in amazement and started whispering so loudly that they hardly heard the names of the other team.

It was an amazing match. Harry's endless practicing was finally proving its use. It seemed all the pent up energy he had stored while he was watching from the benches was bursting through him. All eyes were on him as he tore across the stadium after the golden Snitch. He was putting his Lightning broomstick through its most extreme of paces. The wind slapped against him so hard as if it were indignant that anything move so fast. He did everything to precision and he didn't have to put on any diversionary tactics at all which was somewhat a shame. He caught the Snitch with his right hand half an hour into the match. There was a few seconds of stunned silence on all sides until the commentator broke it with words that were soon drowned out by the crowd. They went ballistic. They couldn't believe that their hero, Harry Potter---the one who delivered them from Voldemort---could be their hero on the Quidditch Field as well! Harry took a victory lap. It was the most amazing feeling in the world. He flashed Ron, Dean and Seamus a smile and a thumbs up as he passed them in the stands. Crandlewick was furious with himself. Odwin was so amazed at Harry's performance that he changed the line-up. Harry would be playing Seeker for all the remaining matches of the season until further notice.

All though they were still quite far from winning the European Cup, everyone was celebrating as if they had. But after a while, everything got a bit old and all Harry wanted was to get away from it all. His back was sore from all the pats he was getting for winning.

He wished Liz could have been there to see it---when he waved the Snitch in the air and when he went for a victory lap around the stadium… but no. They were over. She was too busy being famous. Her music was an instant hit and every teenager in the wizarding world knew her name. They had grown apart. They had broken it off only about six months ago after deciding that their cross-country relationship was not working anymore but it felt longer than that…

He stared into the inky black sky, trying to force Liz out of his mind. He concentrated instead on the remaining thrill left behind in his chest from the match that took place three hours ago. He was nineteen… barely a teenager anymore but he had accomplished what people twice his age could only dream about. And for the first time in a long while… Harry Potter felt… _happy_.

"I thought I might find you here," said Ron from behind him. "Take this, it's cold," he suggested, handing Harry his cloak.

"Thanks," said Harry, putting it on.

"You know everyone's looking for you," said Ron, sitting beside Harry.

"Are they?" Harry said nonchalantly.

"Yeah! You're the hero of the match! Why'd you go, anyway?"

"Mull things over… take it all in. I just can't believe I made it. This all feels so surreal!"

"And I can't believe I was there to see it happen."

"If only Sirius was here... he'd get a total kick out of this!"

Ron was quiet for a while. He didn't quite know what to say about this. They hardly talked about Sirius anymore… it was too painful. He instead cast around for a different subject, "Don't you think it's ironic that I missed all your team's matches except this one?"

"Ha! Yeah! Totally ironic. But, well, you've been busy. I understand. But now you have to come to all my games! I'm going to play Seeker for the rest of the season," Harry laughed.

"No _way_, Harry! That's _fantastic_!" Ron smiled, clapping Harry on the back. Harry winced. Ron took no notice.

"Hermione's going to flip when she hears about that! She's never missed any of your games, you know?"

"Really? I didn't know because she doesn't come see me afterward."

"It's because she's really busy, isn't she? She's Jr. Head of the Department of Experimental Magic, and sometimes she does a few articles for the Daily Prophet," said Ron logically, popping a toffee into his mouth. The wrapper said _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ in gold letters. Fred and George, Ron's older twin brothers, had recently expanded their joke shop to sell sweets aside from the prank stuff. They were doing really well in Diagon Alley.

"She's Jr. Head of Department _already_?" Harry's jaw dropped. Harry knew that Hermione was doing very well in the Ministry and that she would inevitably rise up in the ranks but he didn't know she'd rise up that fast.

"Yeah… I know! That's what Percy said. I was a bit surprised at how quick she got there too, come to think of it," Ron exclaimed, popping another toffee into his mouth, "But I'm glad for her. I think Percy's a bit jealous!

"I told him it was because Hermione wasn't a pompous git like he was but he insisted that it was because she has special favor because she directly helped destroy You-Know-Who. The idiot. I reckon he thinks she's a threat to him becoming Minister of Magic. As if anybody will want _him_ as Minister anyway…" Ron scoffed. He never got along with his brother Percy as well as he did with his other 5 siblings.

"She'd be brilliant if she did get the top job. She's always brilliant."

"Ha! If she did, the House Elves might start a rebellion and put off their chores!" Ron guffawed loudly before going on, "But Liz is the one making waves. She's a role model now! Just last week, Majandra---Bill's daughter---was saying how she wanted to be 'just like Auntie Lizzie' when she grows up," Ron squeaked, imitating the voice of his two-year-old niece. Bill was Ron's oldest brother. "I guess that's what happens when you become a famous musician."

Harry didn't reply to this. _Sure_ he and Liz were still friends… she kept sending him owls telling him what country she'd be touring next, that she'd be interviewed on the WWN (Wizard Wireless Network---wizard radio station) on this day, what song she was writing… She also kept asking him how he was doing. He had stopped replying to them. He found that it hurt too much.

"You're not still _moping_ about her, are you?" Ron asked, faint traces of pity in his voice.

Harry didn't feel like getting into the matter right now so he changed the subject Thankfully, Ron did not ask further questions. "So how are you and Ming-Lao?" asked Harry, referring to the girl Ron was currently dating.

"Fine. I think Ming will finally be moved from taking care of the mentally diseased at St. Mungo's," Ron announced. Ming always wanted to be a Healer but, for some time, she was stuck taking care of the nutcases of the wizard hospital the first day in and she just sort of stayed stuck. She was hoping to get transferred into helping with the cultivation of the medicinal ingredients, which was always one of her keenest interests and specialties. They were never close to this girl back when they were at school since she was a Hufflepuff and two years younger than them but when she left, he was told she had received top marks in Herbology only ever seconding to Hermione. Ron met her in the hospital when he came in with an anvil growing out of his head, courtesy of his twin brothers.

"How's work?" Harry inquired further.

Ron was an Auror. Well… almost an Auror anyway. It was slow work for him to pass all his tests. He hardly scraped up enough O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T's to pursue this career in the first place. It was more of Ron's former experience and contribution to the Ministry for aiding in the vanquishing the Dark Lord and capturing many of his Death Eaters, helped along with some of his father's newly formed connections that gave the allowances he needed to enter this career.

Everyone thought he, Harry, would be the Auror in the trio. He himself had thought so as well. But the events of his final year at Hogwarts had changed everything. He could not bear the thought of looking at those sinister faces, their unforgiving eyes in which Harry could almost just see the reflections of their slain victims. He could not bring himself to be reminded every waking hour of those that he had lost to them.

"Tough, mate. I failed my stealth exam for the third time! Tonks almost broke my neck!" Ron ranted. Tonks had been tutoring him on the side, seeing as Ron could use all the help she could give him but she was getting increasingly agitated, despite her gentle nature, due to her student's apparent lack of improvement.

"What happened this time?" Harry exhaled deeply.

"Do you want to hear about everybody else or not?" Ron said shortly, not being too keen on discussing his failure, at the memory of Tonks's screams of fury.

Harry grinned cheekily and gestured for Ron to go on.

So after a few disgruntled groans from Ron, they kept talking about what happened to the rest of their classmates at Hogwarts until the wee hours of the morning. A lot had happened these last two years after graduating from Hogwarts. It was hard to keep contact with friends now that they weren't able to see each other on a daily basis. So this was an excellent time to hear what their friends and/or enemies had made of themselves.

Who knew that Draco Malfoy, after priding himself on being rich, would end up bankrupt after he invested nearly all his assets on the production of the _Nimbus 3000_?

It was defective because the reinforced breaking charm that it was advertising was too powerful. It hurled Greystoke Winsby of the Caerphilly Catapults two hundred feet in the air. The poor bloke broke his neck and was nearly killed or paralyzed when he landed on the ground. The good news was, the mediwizards acted quickly enough, preventing any lasting damage. The bad news was that the broom afterwards sold like a lead pipe. Draco was currently suing the developers but had to suffer the pangs of poverty while the case was being reviewed.

Crabbe and Goyle were doing what they had always been doing from the very start: serving as bodyguards to Draco. Only now they got paid for it. Neville was currently teaching Herbology at Hogwarts. Dean had taken to art---painting, sketching and sculpting---and seemed to be doing pretty well since Ron had not used the phrase "starving artist" to describe his career. Seamus was working in Hermione's Department.

Ginny had joined her twin brothers in their joke shop. She was now an equal partner. She was responsible in the expanse of their shop to sell real sweets aside from their usual joke shop. It was somewhat a surprise since Ginny had been an outstanding student in Hogwarts and Harry pictured her doing something different... something more Hermione-ish. But then again, she had gotten along with her brothers the best among all her other siblings, not to mention she had the brains to pitch in some great ideas. Whatever her contributions were, he was sure she having a good deal of fun.

Parvati and Lavender were hosts of their own show at WWN. It was a Divination spot. They tried to foresee the futures of their callers and played music in between. They had a small following but they were generally thought of as a bit of a joke, really.

Harry fell silent and receded into his own thoughts as Ron went on. He heard something about Colin Creevey becoming a photographer for the Prophet and Pansy Parkinson being Draco's fiancé but something else was oddly on Harry's mind. Since they were talking about their old classmates…

"Hey, Ron… d'you mind telling me what really happened between you and Hermione? In seventh year you guys were inseparable and you were both in the ministry… I thought it'd be you two that would be together."

"Yeah… you all did. I suppose we did too. Had that entire 'opposites attract' thing going on," Ron laughed with the air of I-didn't-know-what-I-was-thinking-back-then. Then he did something very strange. He stared at Harry like he was on the verge of divulging some tope-secret information but then snapped out of it and said this instead, "Things change when you're out of Hogwarts. There are sides of you that come out that never had the chance to before… and Hermione and I… we began to see that we couldn't complement each other the way we wanted to anymore. A lot of things were different. We just butted heads a lot more and we never made up quite as well as we used to."

Harry was stunned into an awed silence at this uncharacteristic display of insight from his friend. Ron was never someone who could express his feelings very well and if he did… his words never gave the impression of much depth. Harry concluded it must have been because Ron had thought about the breakup a lot, giving him ample time to come up with just the right way of putting things. The breakup was well about a year ago and both of them were moving on but this was the first time he had heard one of them talk about it.

"But let's talk about something juicier, mate. Didn't you used to date my sister?" Ron suddenly burst out, moving his eyebrows up and down.

Harry rolled his eyes as Ron chuckled harder. Harry expected he deserved that. He was, after all, the one who brought up old flames so unexpectedly. His relationship with Ginny had certainly been the most turbulent he had.

There was a danger in their relationship that was, at the time quite irresistible… but when the tragedies of seventh year began to take their full weight on Harry, there were suddenly so many things she couldn't understand about him anymore. He pushed her away and pulled someone else in---that was Liz. She was Ginny's bestfriend at the time and played mediator when Harry and Ginny were having a row. She became close to him and gave the wrong impression on the enemy side. She was captured but this enabled her to be there when Harry faced the most important demons of his life. In the end, that made all the difference in the world.

"Why did you ask all of a sudden anyway? _You_ don't have a thing for Hermione, do you?" Ron asked, snapping Harry out of his short flashback.

"What? No! No, of course not."

Harry never thought he'd see the day when he would meet a man more manic than Wood when it came to Quidditch. But that was before Odwin came into the picture. Practice was back on the day after they got back home to London. Harry hardly had time to unpack before Odwin started calling daily practice sessions. He said they'd better get cracking while their spirits were still high. Harry thought that Odwin had a point but he also thought that there wasn't any harm in a day off. But he suited up for practice on that bright Saturday morning without delay and headed off for their home field.

There were many reasons Harry liked Quidditch practice. It got rid of insomnia, for one. He would be out like a light when he flopped onto bed, muddy or not. His skills were honed and just the high of flying was more than enough for him to put up with its grueling time and energy-consuming nature. But Odwin's practice sessions involved a little more than just tactics and drills. He sometimes infused some unusual activities that he made them do to… "improve" stamina, determination, etc..

During Harry's first practice run, he merely just assumed Odwin was pulling some sort of joke on them all to try and get a few laughs out of them to take their minds out of the loss they had in their last match or maybe even just because he was newbie. But Harry was sorely mistaken. He even remembered asking himself how Odwin ever became captain at all. It seemed he was better suited for a bed next to Lockhart and the Longbottoms. He seemed as insane or even more so than they were.

"My bet's he killed of the other guy they were supposed to make captain. Mad, this one," Wood had whispered darkly when Harry asked that question of him two years ago.

At first Harry thought that was a bit too far fetched, especially since it came from Wood, who Harry used to think was a but cracked as well. But nowadays, Harry wasn't surprised or doubtful in the least of senses. If a man asked you to do stuff like basic acrobatics or river dancing as Quidditch practice, he was bound not to be right in the head. Harry thought they'd be more ready to join the Russian Ballet Company than win their match against the Tutshill Tornadoes in 5 weeks.

"Odwin, _why_ do we have to do this?" Adrian Shrigger asked after Odwin explained today's peculiar instructions. Adrian's thick eyebrows were raised so high that they might've disappeared from his freckled forehead.

"It's bloody pointless, that's what it is!" Charisma Paris ran her fingers angrily through her short auburn hair.

"It's _not_ pointless!" Odwin argued, his saucer-like eyes bulging with frustration making him resemble a surprised owl.

"Man, you're telling us to hold on to a friggin' piece o' rope while a horse drags us through a muddy field. And that's not pointless?" Bradley cried in exasperation, pointing a shaking finger at the bay coated steed in front of them. Bradley was a very tall, muscular black man and he looked very intimidating indeed as he stood there glowering at the much shorter captain.

"Oh no! It's not pointless. What's pointless is what he had us do last time: _baking._ To train us to follow directions, he says. BAKING! But this just takes the cake. This is no longer pointless, this is idiotic. We're like fools! I did not sign up for this!" Jeremiah Prittleby yelled, spraying them all with spit as he swung his Beater's club dangerously.

"It'll build determination!" Odwin shouted back.

_"HOW?"_ the whole team cried in unison.

"Well, you'd be determined to hold on now, wouldn't you?" Odwin exclaimed as if this settled the matter.

"Oh great! I'm out," said Crandlewick, raising his hands in defeat.

"Fine then! Any of you walk out, you're to stay out!" Odwin threatened.

Harry and Wood were standing quietly outside the angry circle, saying a few things occasionally. Harry was too happy with his new position to dare Odwin to cut him. Wood, he thought, must respect Odwin's manic-ness despite his opinion on the captain's state of mind.

In the end, the nutter won out and they allowed themselves the humiliation of being dragged through the mud as they hung on for dear life. They got up, muttering and cursing Odwin under their breath, their bodies aching all over. They were determined, all right, determined to throttle Odwin like a rubber chicken.

After his turn, Harry valiantly struggled to push himself off the muddy ground. His body didn't seem to want to cooperate. He felt like he had no more bones in him. Maybe they had been crushed to powder during that long haul across the field.

"You made it look even worse," Raynard Thwagg, one of the reserve Chasers, muttered, offering Harry a hand.

"Not as worse as it felt, I can tell you that." Harry moaned as Thwagg pulled him to his feet, "We'd better win the European Cup; God knows how much we deserve it putting up with this rubbish."

"I hear Odwin's having us tap-dance tomorrow," Bradley joked, bounding up behind them, slopped from head to toe in muck.

"Maybe Odwin's a nutcase who wants to turn us all into dance instructors!" Shantall Bruebaker, a substitute Beater, rolled her eyes.

"We all know the first bit's true. He's lost his marbles, all right…" Adrian said bracingly.

"He can't keep doing this to us. Can't we report him to our sponsors and Mr. Torynstein or something? Team inspection isn't so far away," Jeremiah said loudly, as though hoping Odwin would hear him.

"I sure hope you're right, Jer…." Charisma shook her head grimly as Crandlewick nervously stepped up to have a go.

Harry returned home to 19 Branston Street in Godric's Hollow, smelling like a pig and slime dripping from his robes. He was so tired he even forgot to get annoyed by the small crowd of wizards who started taking pictures of him, their cameras engulfing him in blue smoke. He proceeded onward, pushed the small door of his white picket fence open, crossed the front lawn and inserted a small bronze key into the doorknob on the dark blue wooden front door.

The scent of owl droppings greeted him as he stepped inside. There were owls on every corner of his house and letters littered his once perfectly waxed marble floor. His redoubled celebrity status meant an overflow of fan mail and that his home was now officially an owl emporium. There was a clamor of owls as they struggled to get their letters to Harry first.

"Stop! Stop all of you! Just drop them into a pile and I'll get to them. Now get going! I can't attend to all of you!" Harry shouted. The owls ceased and did as they were told and most of them fluttered out of the windows and all sorts of other unlikely exits like his fireplace. Some remained perched were they were and stared at him. They probably expected a meal or something. Harry reminded himself to hurry up with that Sealing Charm so that the owls could only deliver mail through the mail slot on his front door. That way, he'd have less uninvited freeloaders.

He sighed and climbed his mahogany staircase and entered his room. He opened his wardrobe, took out a fresh change of clothes, and entered the bathroom. He was just settling into a nice bath when he heard tapping on through the shut door. He ignored it at first then whatever was making that noise gave a loud hoot that almost made Harry jump out of the bathtub.

"Hold on! Let me finish my bath first!" Harry called.

He had ten more minutes of peace when the wretched owl came back to nag some more.

"Oh all right… I'm coming, I'm coming!" Harry groaned. He rinsed, dried, clothed himself and opened the door. "What?" he snapped at the tiny barn out that was clicking its beak impatiently at him.

She pushed a letter toward him, gave more incessant hoots then flew away.

It wasn't an extraordinary one. It was sealed inside a simple white envelope. It looked like one of those the muggles used for their mail. The only thing different was that it had a strong scent of… raspberries. He was inexplicably intrigued. He went back down to the living room and seated himself on the sofa. By now Harry was used to the stench in his house that was enough to kill off a whole army. Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, fluttered onto the armrest next to him. She was the only owl that really belonged to him among the whole lot assembled in his house. Harry slit the envelope open. The letter inside was indeed a peculiar one. It couldn't even be called a letter at all. All it had were 4 words:

I miss you, Harry.

Harry was taken completely aback. He didn't know what to think. He surveyed the letter again. He sat there, completely silent. He was dimly aware that his jaw was completely open. Then thoughts started streaming in. Was this some sort of joke one of his friends could've pulled? Was it a trick of a fan to get him to reply to one of her letters? How could he be sure she wasn't a stalker or a murderer? After all… he didn't know the letter writer. Or maybe he did? Should he just ignore this whole thing?

"What do you reckon?" he turned to Hedwig.

She hooted loudly then fluttered out of the open window behind them.

"Thanks for the help!" he called angrily after her. But as he did so, Hedwig was already disappearing into the sunset.

He stood up and moved the letter towards the fire… he was going to burn it. It was too risky not to. He had every reason to. He had to do it. But enigmatically, as if it were an inborn reflex, he pocketed it instead.


	3. Reopening of Wounds

Chapter III – Reopening of Wounds

Maybe it was because their match against the Tornadoes was only a month away or maybe because Liz was back in town for her European Tour or even the fact that an old friend was getting married in about two months and a week's time… but that letter slipped from Harry's memory as if it were as slippery as Jell-O.

Harry might've forgotten that he left it in the front pocket of one of his robes---the very same robes that, before he had gone to sleep that fateful night, he had stashed at the bottom of his dresser for him to wear again---but it was there. Yes, maybe a bit torn and crumpled in a messy heap but still readable and still immensely important. And not just the don't-forget-to-remind-this-and-that-to-go-to-the-grocery important but the your-whole-entire-future-depends-on-it important. But it would take Mr. Harry Potter a little more time to figure _that_ out.

Today was another practice session, all though Harry's thoughts were elsewhere. He had a feeling the rest of the team felt the same but Odwin took no immediate notice and prattled on with his tactics. He had placed a miniature model of a Quidditch field in front of the team and inside were tiny models of themselves and the opposition. As Odwin told the team what to do, the little models demonstrated. It was quite amusing during the first hour but as it was their third, Harry felt as if his bum had fallen off completely and his brain had melted.

It was quite something, though, that Odwin had gone back to normal practices. Maybe he _did _hear what Prittleby had said and was afraid of a coup or possible losing his spot or something if he proceeded with his more "unique" approaches.

Harry knew he ought to be listening. They had a match with some team every few days or so but those were the teams that weren't really much to worry about. There were some though, like this upcoming game with the Tornadoes that was worth taking note of as they had not lost yet. But it was incredibly hard to do so.

Harry's vision began to blur but then it went back to full color when Odwin's voice cracked like a whip upon all of them, "Are _any_ of you listening?"

Thwagg, who had been dozing off with his head on his knees, woke with a start. A few other members jumped from their seats. Harry blinked and shook his head.

"I thought so…" said Odwin in disgust.

"Well you can't really _blame _us," Charisma pointed out as the others nodded in agreement.

"Fine. Pick up your brooms and meet me outside," Odwin sighed in defeat, picked up his models and his broom then marched out onto the field while his team followed suit. They exchanged worried glances. Odwin never dropped an argument just like that. Nevertheless, they welcomed the break. Harry breathed in the sweet smell of fresh air to cure his damaged sinuses. Breathing in the stench of sweat in the locker rooms seemed to have that sort of effect after a few hours.

"I suppose you think you're all immensely skilled so you thought you didn't need to listen to me back there. And maybe you are. This is why I want to introduce to you all a method I've been working on for quite some time," Odwin began as he paced around his team.

Harry was stumped and puzzled. Was Odwin going to reward them or punish them? He was looking very odd---well, odder than usual. A deep look of concentration mixed with anxiety and excitement riddled his strong-jawed face.

"Oh bloody hell, Odwin! You're not going to have us learn a new dance or something, are you?" Adrian grumbled.

"No, no. Nothing like that. You all know, of course, that one of my favorite team plays of all time was that of the Irish team back in 1994?" Odwin said slowly, still looking deep in thought.

"No, we didn't know that. We'll make a mental note of it. But what does this have to do with anything?" Prittleby said sarcastically.

"Everything. Do you know why I possibly favored the Irish team?" Odwin went on.

"Because their Chasers were seamless. They looked like they could read each others' minds," Harry exclaimed, having once witnessed that match of Ireland against the Bulgaria during the summer before his fourth year.

"Exactly, Harry! _The Chasers looked like they could read each others' minds!_ But what if their whole team could do that? They would be unbeatable!" Odwin grinned widely, clapping his large hands together.

"Let me get this straight… you want us to read each others' minds? That's impossible. No potion or spell has ever been invented for mind reading. Only Seers could possibly do that and they have to have the Gift," Crandlewick countered, scoffing at this preposterous-sounding idea.

"I didn't mean literally! I was thinking more on the lines of a new sign language that only we could understand…" said Odwin, looking as though he were too engrossed in his own thoughts to take proper insult.

It was as if a light was switched on in Harry's brain. For the first time, he could see where Odwin was going on this one. But it would take a lot of work---a whole lot of work. Harry sighed jadedly. _More work. Great… this is _exactly _what I need_. Harry thought sarcastically. He had a sinking feeling that he'd have little time for anything else _but_ work.

So the new regime had begun. Odwin was so obsessed with it that he called practice everyday. The team had no weekends off or anything. They would spend at least twelve hours on the field everyday, playing and practicing. It was grueling and sometimes Harry just wanted to stop and curl up in his bed back home (which by now was visited by fewer owls). But there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between everyone that they were going to go through this no matter what. They had to. There were signs for every Quidditch move, every flying pattern. It was easy practicing them on the ground but it was tricky to do it inconspicuously so that the other teams couldn't figure out the meanings of their signs. That would blow the whole point. Their practices were going better and better each day. Even if they still had a few bumps to smooth out, the new-found precision and timing of their moves due to this new level of understanding was so staggering that Harry could hardly believe this was his team. Harry's alertness and attention to detail seemed to have tripled and he was so sure he could even hear even the faintest rustle of a robe or the softest breeze. That was good. It would give him the advantage when looking for the immensely quick Golden Snitch. And it was only after their second week that Harry was able to test his theory.

Odwin teamed up all the line-up players and all the reserves. He threw all the reserves plain white robes and asked them to change into them. He was going to make them play a practice match. There was even a referee. Odwin said he invited a couple of people to watch and give feedback but so far, the stands on their field were empty. Even though Harry knew perfectly well that he was just playing against his own team-mates, he couldn't help but feel the anxiety only a Quidditch game could bring. This was going to test all their work during those whole two weeks.

Before the game began, Odwin gathered them all up and said, "Now, this is the first time we will truly see the fruits of our labor. The match is in a two week's time. We will be doing this sort of thing only once more afterwards then it's the real thing. I want you to play as if your very life depended on it. I want you to play like the other team is the Tornadoes---"

"Oh, wait, Odwin… does this mean we're all Tornadoes?" Shantall interrupted, raising her eyebrows.

"Not _now_, Shantall," Odwin muttered through gritted teeth and continued; "Now I want you to play your very best. And keep those signs barely noticeable. We don't want our whole strategy blown."

With that, Odwin gave the sign to the referee that they were ready to start and they all took their positions. The referee threw the Quaffle into the air and it was immediately caught by Charisma.

It went on for hours. Harry had never played in a match this fierce or this long. Everyone was almost dead even and Montimmer was giving Harry a run for his money. Four times he made Harry miss the Snitch and it was increasingly getting on Harry's nerves. Even though Montimmer didn't show it very much, he was still very sore about losing his position to Harry in that last match against the Prides and seemed determined to show Odwin that he was still the better choice. He wasn't the only one though. All the other reserves were trying to one-up their counterparts as well. But they weren't starting line-up for nothing.

Harry's foot was already broken for not being able to completely evade a Bludger and the pain was searing but he was not going to loose. He already saw the Snitch darting behind Adrian's left arm on the other side of the pitch. Luckily, Montimmer was searching in the wrong direction. Harry was monitoring the Snitch's movements very carefully… when it got near enough, he would go for it. Montimmer was too good of a flyer to risk the chance over such a long distance.

A few diversionary tactics later, Harry finally got his chance. The Snitch was flitting only two feet above him. Harry's side was ahead by ten points. He had to get it now. He sped upward with Montimmer close behind him. Montimmer tried cutting Harry, to try and make him change directions but Harry expected this and urged his broomstick downward, going under Montimmer instead. Harry pulled out of his dip and finally ending the game, Montimmer looked stunned. He hadn't expected that. The game was over, 420 to 260.

"Well done, Harry! You never disappoint," Wood smiled, flying beside Harry as they went to land with the others.

"Very good, very good. Close game---as it should be," Odwin beamed at them all as Harry's team all threw him glowing looks. The reserves looked pretty proud as well but Montimmer was looking a bit pale as a mediwizard put a Numbing spell and some gooey purple ointment on Harry's foot. Harry would have to come back later to have it fully healed.

"Now," Odwin continued, "I told you I'd be inviting a few people to witness this little match. I've invited five, in fact. You might know some of them." He gestured at a couple of people who were walking toward them. Harry suddenly felt his heart stop beating.

"Hello Harry," Liz was right there in front of him, looking as beautiful as the morning sunshine. Harry was so shocked he could hardly breathe.

"Hey there, Harry. She insisted that I bring her along," said another familiar person. It was Hermione. Harry didn't even notice she was there.

"Hermione, the invitation was only for you," Odwin said, looking cross.

"Oh come on, Odwin… she's an old friend. I already have her sworn to secrecy," Hermione waved away Odwin's concerns. If only Harry had just taken off his Liz-blinders at that moment, maybe he could've taken a better look at Hermione but he was too busy being flabbergasted.

"Fine, then. But any leaks and I'll hold _you_ responsible," Odwin told her. Hermione smiled and agreed. Turns out, Odwin and Hermione had gotten to be good friends since Odwin's brother worked in Hermione's department. There were three other people aside from Hermione and Liz. They all looked very professional and even quite middle-aged. One was a tall, slender black woman with a few white hairs mixed with the black. There was a fat old man with bald patches on his pale head then there was a younger looking man with long, blonde hair. The last one looked very familiar. All of the other players seemed to recognize them.

"Well, team this is Hermione Granger, she's the boss of my brother as well as a close friend of mine. You all know Elizabeth Ramirez---we all look forward to listening to her on WWN? …Makasha Jannsen, Whitby Melner, and---I think you all know him---Nigel Branwood, who have all been Puddlemere players at one point or another. They are here to give us their separate opinions on our performance," Odwin explained as he introduced their guests.

Each explained what they thought. From the sound of their voices, they probably thought they had done swimmingly. But, then again, Harry wasn't quite listening. He felt as if he were in a comma or something. He knew he was staring at Liz but she didn't seem to notice. He felt numb and not just because of the Numbing spell. He was in such a daze that half an hour in; he was still sitting on the same spot with the same expression.

"Harry! Snap out of it!" Wood whispered, clapping Harry on the forehead.

Harry blinked and looked at Wood's face.

"It'll be over soon, for the meantime stop looking like you're brain dead," Wood said.

So Harry looked away from Liz and listened to whoever was speaking. It was still hard to understand anything. His brain wasn't working properly. He could hear words but it was as if it had un-learned the language of English because all that Harry seemed to be receiving was a load of gibberish.

When it was all over, Harry tried to escape as quickly as possible into the locker rooms, hiding behind Wood who was helping him get him back to the mediwizard. Unfortunately, Hermione was too quick for him.

"Oh, Harry, stay a bit! We haven't seen you for ages!" she chimed, grabbing his arm.

"I can't, Hermione. Broken foot, you know?" Harry forced a laugh, pointing at his foot.

Failing to catch on, Wood said brightly, "Oh, that's OK, Harry! I can have Nestor come here to you guys. I'm sure you'd want to catch them up."

Harry turned to Wood and narrowed his eyes at him. Wood's eyes widened in late realization and he grinned apologetically but the damage was done. Wood turned and went to get Nestor the mediwizard and left Harry to his doom.

"That was a great game, Harry! I'm so proud!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around Harry.

"Yeah… er… thanks," Harry said slowly, trying to peel Hermione off him, he was trying very hard not to groan in pain. Hermione's weight was putting pressure on Harry's broken foot. It was throbbing like mad and she must've realized it because she gestured to Liz and the two helped him onto one of the players' benches. Harry pleaded for Nestor to hurry it up.

So they talked for a while. It really wasn't all that bad. I mean, these girls _were_ his friends, after all. But Harry was still uneasy around Liz. He knew it was unfair to Hermione whom he really wanted to talk to again properly since she was always too busy with work. But she had already worked out a way for them to catch up, so it seemed.

"You know that once in a while I'm asked to do a few articles for the Prophet to update them on the Department, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure… why?" said Harry.

"Well, the editor knows I'm really close to you and asked me if I could do an interview if I had the time…" Hermione said slowly. Harry began to see where this was going and he sighed resignedly. He knew Hermione well enough to know that there wasn't a way he could deny her.

"Sure, sure…" Harry said without letting her ask him formally. His foot was completely healed now and he was aching to high-tale out as soon as possible.

"Fantastic!" Hermione grinned, giving Harry a big, friendly hug.

"Oh, hey… I need to be going. I've got some things to attend to." Harry lied as Hermione let go.

"Oh, of course, but Harry—wait!" Liz exclaimed and before he could do anything to stop her, Liz gave him a hug as well. He was rigid with shock and slight incredulity at her audacity. Didn't she know how much she had hurt him? What was with her that she was acting as though none of it ever happened? But despite this, he found himself melting into her grasp. He breathed in deeply, trying to take in this moment, trying to remember Liz's sweet scent. But a different aroma met his senses. She smelled strongly of something strangely familiar…

"Raspberries," Harry said aloud. He had turned his whole room upside down looking for the letter and he had finally found it. He made his way across his room, throwing a few clothes out of the way before he sat on his bed.

Could Liz be the author of the letter? It didn't seem so impossible. The parchment had the exact same scent Liz wore earlier. Harry hit himself on the head with the letter. How could he have forgotten to ask where she had gotten her perfume?

Harry felt as if the all the clues were coming into light. And Harry always knew that Liz kept a typewriter at home since it was a gift from her muggle-born great Grandma Constantina. But he had forgotten if she had broken it or not. It had to be her. It just had to.

"She wants me back, Hedwig!" Harry laughed triumphantly.

Hedwig hooted incredulously.

"Well what else could it be? She's trying to get my attention… get me intrigued. That's her style," Harry smiled.

Hedwig turned around, leaving Harry to stare at her indifferent tail.

"Fine. Be that way," Harry told her crossly. He knew he was right. This was a good sign. This was a green light for him to start making his move on her.

He would finally get to ask her the questions that had been haunting him since the day they went their separate ways. Like, why they ended the way they did, just when things were looking as though they were at their peak. Like why she kept acting like nothing had ever happened between them. Like why she had the audacity to act as if they were all chummy-chummy again.

"You'll see. You'll see that I'm right," Harry grinned.

Hedwig hooted as if to say, "Bring it on."


	4. Puddlemere United VS The Tutshill Tornad...

Chapter IV - Puddlemere United V.S. The Tutshill Tornadoes

Renewed by the fact that in a short month's time… he would be holding the girl of his dreams in his arms once again gave Harry such an air of blissful contentedness that it was almost impossible to wipe that gleaming smile off his face.

"Doesn't it hurt, Harry? You're always smiling," Ron asked as stepped into Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlor in Diagon Alley.

"Nope… I just feel so light! I'm going to have her back! After so long, I'm going to have her back!" Harry mused.

"You can't be sure of that, mate," Ron reminded him once again, shaking his head hopelessly. They had been debating on this topic for the whole day and it was getting extremely tiresome.

"Ron, this is a sure thing! Who else can it be?" Harry looked at his best friend as though he was a bit slow in the head as they took their seats in one of the tables.

Ron opened his mouth as if to tell him something but closed it again, on better judgment. He bit his lip and was silent for a while before saying, "Ah, never mind. Believe whatever you want to believe."

Harry grinned even wider. Then a short waitress sauntered towards them in a bored manner. She looked as if she were in her late twenties, she had atrocious light brown hair and her whole face was covered in freckles. She was chewing some Drooble's Best Blowing Gum in her mouth so loudly that it sent goose bumps of disgust through Harry's body.

"Welcome to Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlor, may I take your order?" she drawled, not taking her eyes off her notepad.

"I'll be having a Knickerbocker Glory and… Harry, what're you having?" Ron asked across the table.

"I'll have a banana split," Harry replied.

The waitress' ears perked up in amplified intrigue and looked at the men she was serving. At the sight of Harry's face her mouth opened so wide that the blue gum she was chewing for what looked like three months dropped from her mouth onto the cold floor beneath them. She ducked down to retrieve it and rose back up, red as a beat. Then to Harry's and Ron's repugnance, she popped the bacteria-packed gum back into her mouth.

"Y-you're Harry Potter! _The _Harry Potter!" she stammered, completely star struck.

"Yep, that's him, all right, missy… now---" Ron began but was cut off by the macabre little waitress.

"I have posters and pictures of you all over my bedroom! I'm in love with you!" She squealed, pointing and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Now this was more than Harry wanted to hear. His eyes widened in appalled shock at her statements. He didn't know what to say or think.

"I've got to take a picture with you!" screamed the girl and then she did something that Harry never dreamed possible from any right thinking person on the planet. She pulled him right off his seat, hugged him round the middle and then started pulling him out into the street to get a picture taken with him, screaming at everyone that Harry was her boyfriend now. Her audacity was alarming.

"Ron! _Help!_" Harry cried. The whole restaurant was watching him struggle against the lunatic who was hauling him with the strength of a bull. But Ron seemed as if like he was in the middle of looking winded and in the brink of laughter. Harry cursed his indifference within himself. Somebody---_anybody_---help him!

"Harry, Darling! So _this_ is where you've gotten!" came a voice from the back of the restaurant. Harry looked around. It was Hermione. She eyed him as if telling him, "play along with me".

Then she did something that shocked Harry as much as the becrazed fan still pulling on his arm. She kissed him. There was a strange electricity that coursed through Harry's body and he was feeling a sensation of a queer happiness. But whatever this sensation was, he forgot it in the flurry that came next.

"Excuse me and _who_ are you?" exclaimed the waitress, pushing Hermione away from Harry, narrowing her eyes into such slits that Harry wondered if she could still see.

"_I'm_ his girlfriend!" Hermione lied.

"She's---?" the waitress looked at Harry pleadingly, slowly letting go of his arm.

Harry nodded, not sure if he could find the voice to say anything right at that moment.

"And who are _you_?" Hermione glowered in mock anger.

"I-I well---" the waitress looked from Harry to Hermione then to everyone in the restaurant who was looking stunned and awestruck, almost as if she was beginning to realize exactly she was doing and where she was. She then sighed (or was it a sigh? Harry couldn't tell) then started marching back toward the kitchens.

Then to add to the conspiracy of it all, Florean Fortesque came out in a towering rage and started yelling at the top of his lungs at his employee,

"HORACIA BLUBBERCUP, WHAT IN MERLIN'S BEARD DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?!" his eyes were popping.

"I was just---I'm so sorry!" Horacia then burst into tears, turned back around and ran screaming out into the street.

There was a long awkward silence wherein everbody tried to take everything in. Then Florean, sounding embarrassed at his outburst, said in a tiny voice, "Harry, I'm so sorry. Horacia was one of my best staff members---I don't know what made her act the way she did! But you can be sure that when she gets back that she will be dealt with accordingly!"

"No… no it's all right. Don't fire her. Just… just give her extra work or something and tell not to do this again," Harry muttered slowly. He pondered why Florean hadn't come to his rescue sooner… but he suspected he had been watching too. Harry glowed scarlet at the thought of it all.

"You can be sure!" Florean huffed then added politely, "You're orders are on the house, I'm truly sorry for this catastrophe!"

"No… it's all right. I've sort of lost my appetite for now. Maybe later?" Harry smiled.

"Of course… of course… ah it seems but yesterday you were thirteen and I was helping you with your homework on Goblin rebellions!" Florean grinned widely, clapping Harry on the shoulder before shuffling off to deal with Horacia.

"Let's go," Hermione said, leading them outside.

"Hermione… why---?" Ron instigated but Hermione gave him a look then suddenly, he understood and a smug smile crept across his face.

"Is there something I'm missing? And Hermione, you didn't have to kiss me---all though I appreciate your salvaging me from that nutter," said Harry.

"There isn't anything you're missing and I only kissed you to… uh… make it more convincing," Hermione replied quickly as though she wanted to get off the subject as quickly as possible.

Harry opened his mouth to say that her merely saying that she was his girlfriend would be more than enough but she raised her hand to his face and said, "Not another word. Just a 'thank you' would be fine."

Harry was peeved. Now he was going to have to put up with reporters and fans asking him about his "relationship" with Hermione.

"So... how's the department, Hermione?" said Ron trying to break the awful silence that had ensued between Harry and Hermione.

"Hectic. Gathaka---our Head of Department---went and eloped with Willdur Bromm, she's left the whole department in disarray _and_ now I have to take up all the slack!" Hermione ranted. She was so cute when she ranted like this…

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, eyes as wide as they could get. How---wha---? Did he just think what he thought he just did?

"Harry? Harry what's wrong? You look odd," Hermione looked concerned.

"It's… nothing. Nothing," Harry shook his head and continued walking. His friends eyed him in consideration.

"I'm fine! Come on… let's go back to the Cauldron. I'm suddenly not in the mood for any more gallivanting." Harry smiled to make them stop looking at him like that.

This seemed to have done at least some of the trick because they smiled back at him and they continued walking.

But Harry wasn't really fine. He was a bit---there was no other word for it---_freaked_. This was getting weird. First the kiss and now… this? This had to be some sort of off day or maybe he just slipped into the Twilight Zone, Harry tried to convince himself. This was nothing. Nothing at all. And with that, Harry shoved the disturbing thought to the back of his mind.

They took a table in one of the shadowy corners of the shop to avoid attracting any more unwanted attention.

"So… has Remus finalized the date of his wedding?" Hermione asked as one of the waiters took their orders.

"I don't know. In his last letter there was something about the twenty-seventh… that's a month from now," Harry murmured,

"I still can't believe he's getting married," said Ron in awe. The waiter scuttled off.

"He's marrying Tonks, isn't he?" Hermione knitted her brows, trying to remember, looking a bit ashamed that she forgot.

"I know. Bit of a job they're going to have. I wonder if they're up to it. Him being a werewolf and her… well… her being… a bit off," Harry rested his chin on the palms of his hands.

Ron snorted.

"A bit off? That woman's a menace. Fine couple they'll make. I can imagine the rows they'll be getting in!" he said, making ridiculous growling noises.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and he fell silent. "That's going to be hard. Where's Remus going to work? Where are the children going to stay when he changes? They can't be near him. I mean… he can't risk biting his own children," said Hermione, being the worry wart that she was.

"I think they've got a lot of time to plan for that, Hermione. Besides… I think they're going have them stay over at a friend's house before he transforms and doesn't she know how to make Wolfsbane Potion?" said Ron.

"Barely," she muttered.

"Why do you always do that?" Harry asked Hermione, looking straight into her brown eyes.

"Do what?" Hermione furrowed her brow.

"Worry all the time," muttered Harry.

"Somebody has to," Hermione said, grabbing one of the mugs of butterbeer that the waiter was setting down on their table. Harry grinned at her answer. He didn't know why. He just did.

"When can I book you for an interview, Harry?" Hermione inquired after taking a long draught from her order. At this, Ron made a lot of strangled coughing noises as he drank. His eyes were dancing curiously. Harry raised an eyebrow at him but he merely looked away. What was _wrong_ with him?

"I don't know. After the match?" Harry said distractedly. He was still trying to decipher Ron's expression which was midway between a scowl and a smirk. He looked so… odd.

"That works for me," Hermione nodded. There was something about her suddenly. More than she was letting on.

Everyone was tight-lipped that morning of the match. No one could utter a sound. Harry felt like he would get sick if he _did_ try to say anything. His hands were shaking as he gripped his broom. They were all sitting round in the locker room, waiting for Odwin to say… _anything_ before trooping out onto the field but he was currently pacing every corner of the room. He would open his mouth as if he was finally going to say something once in a while but he would shut it again, getting paler each time he did so.

In the end he gave up and just gestured them to get on out there. A couple of the players looked as if they were about to pass out or at least wet their pants.

Before Odwin opened the doors that lead up to the field, they mounted their brooms for the traditional flying entrance.

"Let's go," murmured Odwin, finally able to say something. His expression was hard to read. It was a mixture of dread, excitement, confidence and grimness. But it was all put out of Harry's mind when Odwin threw those doors open. Harry and his team kicked off from the ground and flew into the field as their names were called.

They received their applause graciously and waited for their opponents to make their entry.

"Introducing the Tornadoes---Rithe, Jinggo, Mathias, Fothbart, Uron, Jesse, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannndddd… LOMBARR!!!!!" bellowed the commentator as the crowd sent off their warm-up cries.

Harry's nervousness was at breaking point by this time. What if he forgot everything? What if he mixed up the signs? What if he forgot to look for them? What if he gave it all away? What if he did it all wrong?

In no time at all though, Harry was forced to abruptly halt all of these questions that were tearing at him from the inside. The Quaffle was thrown up in the air and the game began.

"The Quaffle taken by Rithe… stolen by Wakjobe---blimey did you see that interception?!---Wakjobe passes to Paris… now Shrigger who avoids a bludger sent by Fothbart---good duck---Shrigger is coming up to the goals… Jesse tries to block but Shrigger SCORES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" roared the commentator. But this was the last time he was able to form complete sentences.

It was as if everything leading up to that first goal was just a heat up. Everything became increasingly fast paced. Indeed, it was one of the fastest games Harry ever played in. All he could see were blurs everywhere. It was a good thing they had practiced so much or else Harry would never have been able to read the signs being signaled him.

"I've never seen anything like this! This is---this is amazing! I can hardly keep up! It's Wakjobe---Shrigger---dodges a bludger by Mathias---Jinggo---Paris---Wakjobe---Shrigger---back to Wakjobe who dives around Lombarr---Paris… going left.. now right… AND SCORE!!!!!!!!!! Puddlemere leads The Tornadoes by 20!"

Odwin signaled the team to kick it into overdrive. He was getting impatient and wanted to end the game.

Harry zoomed around the field trying to look for the snitch or any indication from his teammates on where it was. But everyone else was increasing in speed, scoring more goals than Harry had ever seen any team do in a minute, that they were too busy to multi-task.

"GOOD LORD! That has to be some kind of record---10 goals in one minute! This is---this is extraordinary! Such speed, such coordination!" cried the commentator, forgetting to tell the spectators what was happening on the field. But he didn't need to. It seemed that everyone on the field was temporarily dumbstruck at what had just happened and couldn't hear properly at all.

Harry grinned. He saw the snitch zipping 70 feet below him. The other team was too frantic trying to get at least one goal in because they seemed to have resigned that this was one match they were not going to win. Plus, their Seeker was looking in the wrong direction. Harry dived, feeling as though he were ripping through the wind with his body. The viewers seemed to have snapped out of their trance and drew a collective breath as Harry continued to plunge downwards.

Harry's felt the pressure mounting as he neared the snitch---and the ground. It never seemed so solid and so daunting. He gripped the handle tighter; for fear that his sweaty palms might slip and mess up the dive. Harry felt its vibrations triple. He had managed dives before---they were his specialty---but never this high or this fast. Harry took a deep breath and tuned out the sound enveloping him and concentrated on his thoughts.

_Ok… almost there… get ready for it… NOW!!! _Harry lifted one handle off his broom, caught the snitch, pulled out of the dive and spiraled upwards, shaking the snitch above him as he did so.

The crowd went insane. The stood up as one (even the Tornadoes' supporters) and cheered so loudly that Harry wouldn't have been surprised if the racket they were making reached the muggles. The commentator was so bowled over that it took him several minutes before he could squeak the results of the match.

"P-Puddlem-mere United w-wins 270 t-to 0 over the T-Tornadoes… spectacular… spectacular."

With that, Odwin lead his team around for a victory lap. It was bliss. The crowd was screaming itself hoarse but Harry hardly heard. He flew but he hardly felt it. The wind blew across his face and his hair tickled his forehead… but he couldn't care less. Everything was so right… so perfect…

It was only on their third lap around the stadium that Harry was able to tear himself away from the intensity of his high spirits and spot something that was both tremendously great and atrociously awful at the same time… Hermione and _Liz_ sitting beside Ron and Seamus.

He almost hit Charisma who was flying ahead of him because of his staring. He was glad Liz had come to see him but he hated her for having him wrapped around her slender little finger. And when he looked at her Hermione, resplendent in robes of figure-hugging, lilac silk with silver intricacies embroidered on it… he remembered the kiss… it made him feel very wrong indeed and his stomach started churning, as though it was grinding his intestines into putty. He didn't like it.

All of these were ruining his moment---his day in the sun. Why now? Why now?

His friends, noticing he was staring at them, mistook it for him trying to catch their eye and waved energetically at him. He could hardly lift his fingers from his broom because he felt that if he did, he'd slip and fall to the hard earth below him. But he thought he was able to mange a small wave. He didn't know anymore. His brain was getting addled.

Harry knew how pathetic he was, hiding out in the team tent all this time but he knew well and good what he'd have to deal with if he didn't. And honestly, he just didn't _want_ to have to deal with it. He didn't know _why_. If his theory about the letter was right, he shouldn't need to be hiding in the sea of celebration and masses of laughing people crowding inside their tent. But it was so different… than what he had imagined in his head… as things rarely are.

Everyone was so happy. Bottles of all kinds of drinks were being uncorked everywhere, spraying them all with an assortment of liquids and loud popping noises were heard every five seconds. The grins were so wide they could all have modeled for a muggle toothpaste commercial. Flashbulbs were going off simultaneously, engulfing them in blue smoke as they went on with their merriment. And the laughter was so crisp it was deafening.

Harry would've been a part of that but he was too busy being paranoid. He had been asked many times to come join in the festivities but he had refused so many times, they had learned not to bother with him anymore. As of now Harry was looking over his shoulder every chance he could, to see if Liz was there. He knew he must look like he had some sort of neck problem or something but… he just… didn't want to see her. Which was so strange since he was supposed to be trying to win her back.

He grabbed a bottle of butterbeer and a chicken leg from the buffet table and sat down on one of the wooden chairs in a shadowy corner of the tent that was still mercifully unoccupied. He sat and ate as he looked. He found that his mind wandered less on things he would rather not think about when he just observed people.

Adrian and Bradley were arm wrestling in the middle of the tumult. There was Odwin, drunk as anything, chasing after every woman (beautiful or ugly alike), trying to grab their buttocks. Wood and Charisma were trying to draw the attention of the media towards them by giving interviews so that nothing less than flattering about their other teammates would end up splashed on the cover of every paper tomorrow. The rest of his teammates were huddled together in a circle with their friends laughing so hard some of them were crying of mirth. Social climbers were seen skirting around anybody who was anybody. Some people were just obviously there for the food.

Harry almost smiled as he caught some of the words of one of Raynard's jokes but it was getting hard to concentrate so he just sat there, gaping as time trickled by in its slow torpor… and then his head began swirling and it suddenly became increasingly hard to chew the chunk of chicken he had just bitten off. Everything started spinning itself into a whirl of color… the sounds were melting into each other… going on and off… on and off… buzzing… buzzing… buzzing… buzzing…

"Harry? Harry, are you all right?" echoed a distant voice.

Harry's consciousness snapped back into proper operation. Everything was coming back into focus. The sound that was reaching his ears was one he could recognize. He could see figures moving freely across his vision… they were a bit hazy at first but they gradually became clearer. And it was at this point he identified the person who had disturbed his trance.

It was Hermione. She looked faintly worried, her hair falling across her face, escaping the holds of her ponytail. Her eyes were dancing.

He opened his mouth to try and mumble something to her but she merely just put her forefinger to her lips and said,

"Get up and follow me… I think you need the company."

She grasped his hands gently and led him out onto the camping grounds. There was as much celebration outside the tent as there was inside. But they were headed, it seemed, into the woods.

Harry was still suffering from the after-daze that he didn't even bother to ask about what Hermione wanted to talk about. He let himself be steered through the thicket, the sounds of the campsite vanishing slowly with every step they took forward.

Then Hermione halted in a familiar clearing and sat down, hugging her knees. Harry sighed and lay down on the ground, the soft grass tickling his sleepy face.

"Harry, why have you been so evasive of us lately?" Hermione murmured.

"Evasive? What're you---"

"Oh don't even try, Harry," Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Harry turned over so that he lay on his back and tried to concentrate on the small patch of sky that shone in between the leaves above him. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Why did this always happen to him? It was getting increasingly peeving.

Hermione pursed her lips, was silent for a moment then heaved a great sigh of understanding.

"It's Liz, isn't it?" she said quietly.

Harry shifted his gaze toward her but still said nothing. Hermione's eyes were no longer dancing.

"You don't _have_ to say anything. It's always her," she grinned. There were so many things hidden in that small grin but Harry didn't see it. The moonlight was not enough to reveal its secrets.

Harry didn't know what to say to this pronouncement. Was Hermione being bitter? Observant? Humerous? …Hermione was never vague like this usually. She was mostly blunt and frank.

"I was supposed to interview you," she exclaimed, regaining her typical air of business, which made Harry's spirits ebb away even more as he remembered the promise he made. "But I spotted you in the tent… and… well… I didn't think that it was the right time anymore."

Harry sat up, furious at himself for feeling the way he felt for Liz, for being so pathetic, for being so paranoid, for forgetting his promises, for being so blind, for… loosing himself.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione---I'll make it up to you. I will!" he said, clapping himself on the forehead.

She merely smiled once again and nodded simply.

She understood so well. Was that something women were born with? Her passivity over his mistake and her comprehension of his illogicality made Harry want to hug her… hug her and let her relieve him of the weighty burden that had settled itself in his chest… hug her and just let it all go…


	5. Fallen

Chapter V – Fallen

It was sundown and Harry was suddenly regretting his rash promise to Hermione. He had cooked for himself all the time and he knew it wasn't so bad. He had heaps of practice when he was still expected to slave around his uncles' but even then his meticulous aunt never let him do the big jobs. So, he had never quite cooked for anybody else but himself.

He knew that he really didn't have to be so nervous as to this was just Hermione, after all. But as he looked at the setup on his square wooden table, he couldn't help feeling like he was preparing for a date---which was ridiculous. It was just a dinner among friends and an interview for the Prophet. It was all very normal but nevertheless… the thought of a date was still curiously there.

Harry looked at the watch on his right wrist. It was still the old watch. He had gotten it fixed during his first summer after graduation. It had previously stopped operating due to being submerged in the lake for more than an hour in Harry's fourth year. But now its hands were steadily ticking like they should be. Half past seven. She should be here at any moment.

He moved towards his front door and positioned himself behind it. And just as he reached up to try and pat his hair down---a notorious force of habit of his---, there was a quaint knock on his amaranth front door.

He sighed and opened it.

"Hey," Hermione greeted, smiling uneasily as though she too had been thinking about not going through with all this as well.

"Come in---I'll take your coat," grinned Harry. He took Hermione's dark grey trench coat and hung it on the rack beside the door.

Her footsteps echoed slightly all though they were light and small. She was constantly tugging at the sleeves of top. She was wearing muggle clothes. She had once told him she always liked them better. She was wearing high-heeled leather black boots with a long black gypsy skirt and a white, long-sleeved, off-shoulder peasant top.

"You look… good," Harry muttered as he turned to her. And he was not lying. Harry had only seen her look so polished three or four times in his whole lifetime. He looked her up and down fleetingly, taking in her excellent form. Then he suddenly realized that this was _Hermione_ his was giving the old eye. He shook himself quickly, feeling odd as though his heart was confused on what exactly to feel.

"Uh… thanks," she replied as though confused on whether what Harry had said was a compliment or not. Harry hastily shifted his gaze.

"Dinner's almost ready," said Harry, feeling awkward saying those three words. He moved behind her, smiling widely, put a hand on each of her shoulders and playfully began pushing her towards the dinner table. His hands tingled as he touched her skin.

She was laughing heartily as he pulled back a seat to let her get settled.

"I'll be back," he winked and disappeared into the kitchen where the stew was steaming properly on his stove.

He took out a ladle and dipped it into the hot broth. He blew it softly for a few seconds and tasted the fruits of his labor. _Not bad._ He thought. He closed the lid of the pot, turned the fire down, put on some kitchen mitts and placed the stew in the middle of the table.

"It's not much. It's about one of the only dishes I've mastered at the moment---after all those times Aunt Petunia made me chop the vegetables and wait for it to cook," said Harry apprehensively, drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for Hermione have the first taste.

She was silent as she ladled herself some of the stew which made Harry more anxious than he wanted to be. He didn't even know why he was making such a big deal out of this. He was watching the beef and the vegetables that were swimming inside her bowl as she dipped her spoon in. It was like watching a clip in slow motion as Hermione slowly put her spoon to her lips. Harry couldn't help noticing Hermione had nice lips. Perfectly contoured with enough fullness, and what looked like enough softness as well. Harry had never seen such a magnificent shade of pink anywhere else before.

Then suddenly he became aware of himself and everything snapped back into normal speed. What was wrong with him? _Nice lips? What in the---? _Harry tried recalling anything he might've taken that would make him act so peculiarly. None such thing fit the bill.

Hermione was sipping the stew delicately. He found himself tempted to ask her how it was. But he felt it wasn't proper. He wanted any comments from her to come at her own pace. Especially after the thoughts he had entertained about her. He felt ephemerally guilty once more. But he was never one to be described as really patient. She put her spoon down, and stared into his eyes. It was a stare she had never given him before and it was tempting to look away but just as he was about to, she beamed warmly at him and said,

"It's good."

And that made all the difference in the world.

"So… any snogging with Hermione?" said the red-haired head poking out of Harry's sitting room fire.

"WHAT?!" Harry bellowed in shock, refusing to believe what had just come out of his best friend's mouth. At the same time he felt a blush creep to his cheeks at the memory of the things that filled his head about Hermione the night before. He valiantly tried to fight it but it was too late.

A malicious smile started to etch itself on Ron's freckled face. He wiggled his eyebrows and said, "You know… snogging… kissy-kissy? Smoochy-smoochy? Connecting of---"

"I know what it means, you arse. What I don't know is, w_hat_ in the world you are _talking_ about, Ron! I owe her and I was paying up. Why would I snog her?" Harry replied, furrowing his brow at his best friend, feeling faintly annoyed.

"Oh please. Hermione's a really good kisser. Partly why I didn't want to break up with her back in the day. You should know. You had that moment in Diagon Alley," Ron bared his teeth. Apparently, he was deeply enjoying himself.

"First of all, I don't know _why_ she even had to do that. Second of all, I was too busy being surprised to note if she was a good kisser or not," Harry shouted over his shoulder, getting increasingly peeved as he went to get himself some toast.

"Well she is. Maybe you and her should try it again to see exactly what I mean," Ron guffawed.

"Not funny," Harry shot back, taking up a knife and began buttering his toast.

"But, seriously, mate… did you snog her? You can tell me."

"Would you quit it with the snogging? Read my lips: I-Did-Not-Snog-Hermione. No snogging, you get it? There _was_ no snogging!" said Harry, loosing his patience, started brandishing the butter knife at Ron's head threateningly as if it were something more deadly. It was _much_ too early for this.

Ron burst out laughing. So hard indeed that sparks began to fly out from the grate. Harry jumped out of the way to avoid them. His face was so scarlet and so hot that he could have had egg with his toast if he cracked one open on his face. Why Ron's mockery was getting to him so effectively? A voice in his head was already telling him a couple of theories but Harry did not want to hear them. Harry was rendered so speechless by his anger that all he could do was shake the butter knife even more and mutter words that even he couldn't understand. It took a while for Ron to get over himself. Every chunk of laughter coming out of his mouth hit Harry harder than any Bludger could. Ron was the last person he thought would torment him about Hermione for more reasons than one.

"Oh come on… I was just kidding around!" Ron said, breathing heavily, and wiping away tears of mirth.

Harry rolled his eyes and tore of a big piece of his toast and began chewing grudgingly.

"So how many more of these dinners do you owe her, exactly?" asked Ron.

"A lot. I promised her I owe her dinner or at least hang around with her every time our schedules permit us… until Lupin's wedding," Harry sighed, wondering why he didn't put more thought into this promise before he actually said anything to Hermione.

"Are you joking? That's almost a month!" Ron spluttered.

"No. I'm not. I wasn't thinking properly. I just went ahead and said it."

"Harry, Harry, _Harry!_ Shame on you! You're supposed to be winning Liz back and here you are, cavorting with Hermione!" Ron shook his head.

"Look, I didn't _mean_ to! I _am_ trying to win Liz back and I am _not_ cavorting with Hermione."

Ron went into another bout of laughter and then said, "Have it your way, then. You have a good practice, all right? I'm off…need to take care of some business at the shop."

"Bye," said Harry curtly as he squeezed himself some fresh orange juice.

"Oh don't be like that! I didn't mean anything by it!" Ron apologized though halfheartedly.

"Fine."

Ron shook his head once again and with a small _pop!_, it had disappeared from the fire, leaving Harry deeply disturbed and aggravated so early in the morning.

Harry trudged on the grass of the team field, the sun burning the back of his neck. But he strangely invited this pain. It took his mind off other more painful things. At least this pain, he could control and explain which he couldn't say for the others.

He made his way to the locker rooms, pushed open the ancient-looking door and entered.

"Odwin---we'll get staved! We can't play in this heat!" Wood was trying to reason with his mentor.

"Wood, you're a good man and I respect your opinions but it's just heat! We can play," said Odwin.

"Harry! You're here!" Wood said in relief, as though Harry could say something that could change Odwin's mind.

"Harry! You're late," Odwin said afterwards.

"Sorry," Harry apologized.

"Harry---you've been out in that heat. We can't play, can we? Just look! Your neck---it's all red!" Charisma exclaimed as everyone nodded in agreement.

In truth, Harry didn't think it was that bad. They would, after all, be flying at great speeds, which, if anything, would get the wind to whip across their bodies and the sun wouldn't be able to get a concentrated shot on their limbs.

"We're playing," Odwin said shortly.

The team once again burst into a furious tirade about Odwin's utter unfairness.

"WE'RE PLAYING!" Odwin yelled above the collective diatribe. But if this did anything to quell the team's fury, it sure didn't show.

Harry, so sick of any sort of bickering by now, having been tested already earlier, groaned in annoyance, grabbed his broom and marched back onto the sweltering field, slamming the door behind him. He wanted to fly and feel like everything else didn't matter. And if they wanted to waste precious time contradicting each other… then it was their loss.

Harry passed the shadows cast by the stands above and felt the sun's unforgiving wrath. He mounted his broom and kicked off quickly, not wanting to be in clear firing range any longer. He at least wanted to be a moving target. He did some drills and practiced his dives. This probably worked best to overpower the painful throbbing his heart was recently doing for one reason or another. His robes were getting sweaty and Harry's face was starting to burn---literally. But he as always, he didn't mind so much as long as he had the open air and his broom…

Suddenly his teammates joined him on the field, taking their invectives with them. Harry rolled his eyes. He knew that the heat _did_ do funny things to people but he just wished they would at least have the sensitivity to keep him out of hearing vicinity.

He pulled on the handle of his broom, skyrocketing upwards, trying to get away from it all. But it was no use. His teammates were already angrily mounting their brooms and kicking off excessively hard off the ground, creating enormous dust clouds below them.

Odwin released the balls and took off. He didn't say anything but it was understood that they were all supposed to do drills now. _This is going to be interesting._ Harry thought lamely, submitting to the fact that he was going to have to put up with his teammates ill-temperedness for the next couple of hours.

But then it turned out he would have to be preparing himself to deal with more than just a few sore feelings. Their plays were getting excessively offensive and hazardous. Even the quaffle was becoming as perilous as any of the bludgers. It was all Harry could do to avoid the violent balls as they cut through the wind. He weaved in and out of corners, through teammates, exhibiting his best moves as he tailed the snitch. When he finally caught it, Odwin told them to divide into their teams.

And as Harry watched the reserves pull on their white robes, Harry deeply wished he was still one of them. Odwin being on their team right now when everyone was so sore at him could not be a good sign. Harry wondered why Odwin even called a practice game. Was he so dim not to know what injuries he could probably acquire by doing this? Harry sighed. Oh well. They were _his_ appendages, after all. And he _did_ bring this upon himself. But all the same Harry felt that he should give their captain a heads-up.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Harry quietly.

"Yes. I want them to harness their anger. I want to see if it makes a difference on the game play---if it makes it better," Odwin replied irritably, wiping forehead with one of the sleeves of his robes.

They would harness their anger all right. Harness their anger to break both Odwin's kneecaps more like. Harry was about to tell Odwin all this but the maniac told him to shut it as the reserves trooped into position for the quaffle to be thrown. Odwin took the quaffle as his team assembled. He threw it then went to catch up as fast as he could.

The first few minutes went better than Harry had expected it. All the bludgers were aimed at only one person (three guesses who), of course, but there were no serious injuries as of yet. But as they progressed, Harry was finding it increasingly hard to pay attention to the game. The heat was beginning to make him sluggish that it was only through pure luck that he continued to avoid their bludgers which were hitting with record force.

He sped slowly, feeling too warm to be able to exert any really effort into his game anymore. The heat was slowly eating away at his energy. He was flying so slowly that if he went any slower, he'd be going backwards. He cast a slow glance at the relentless and unmerciful ball of fire blazing on the orange sky above them. He remembered faintly willing for it to disappear for a while when something slugged him unbearably in the stomach causing him to tumble off his broom.

He managed to grab the handle of his Lightning. But his palms were so sweaty it was evident that he wasn't going to be able to hold on too long. He vaguely cursed them as each finger slid off. The heat had done some job on him. It was almost as if he was forgetting to panic. But his heart was slowly remembering how as he inched ever so closely to the sinister looking earth below him.

Everyone suddenly realized what was happening as Harry's hand finally gave way and he started crashing down.

Harry had never felt anything like it. He had been unconscious the last time something like this ever happened to him. It was somewhat like the charge he felt throughout his body when he dived but it was also distinctly different. The wind was whistling so hard and felt so cruel. It was as if it were cutting through his skin. He felt as though he had left his internal organs up in the air with his broom and its pain was suddenly more pronounced than Harry had ever felt it. He wanted to scream but there was nothing left inside him to let off any sort of cry. Two sides of him were fighting for dominance. One all but welcomed this fall as if it was a last ditch effort to feel alive before everything around him disappeared into the black of death. The other was wishing to live and was not willing to give up everything this earth had to offer.

The girls gasped and some were temporarily dumbstruck. It was a good thing Wood kept his wits about him. His eyes were popping madly and his hands were shaking but he pulled out his wand firmly and quickly muttered, _"Wingardium Leviosa"_.

Harry suddenly felt the strange rush come to an end as Wood's spell came into effect. Wood was zooming down towards him with the rest of the team in tow as Harry floated slowly downward.

Harry fell to the ground clutching his stomach. It was so much more excruciating now that he was safe. He clinched his eyes. It was almost as if he couldn't breath. No sound, no air came from his lips and he was wheezing, trying in vain to get a good deep breath.

"Somebody---somebody get Nestor!" Wood called.

Harry spluttered and coughed. Air was gradually filling his lungs again but the pain was still as arduous as ever. He put his shaking fingers on his mouth and found that blood was gushing from it, staining the white sand beneath him. He stared at his blood covered hands and saw the color drain from inside it.

He heard footsteps behind him and shadows were casting themselves on him. They were calling his name. But Harry could not answer their worried calls.

Nestor had arrived and he was kneeling beside Harry.

"He's going to be all right. Now stop crowding him, all of you. The man needs some air!" the medic ordered, taking out some potions from inside his bag.

Nestor put a cushion underneath Harry's head to elevate it.

"Gargle and spit," Nestor said, shoving a class of water into Harry's pale hands.

Harry did as he was told, spitting out scarlet colored water. His lips felt cold and numb.

"Now drink this. Hurry before more blood comes out of that mouth of yours," Nestor said firmly, handing Harry a cup of some thick red potion which was emitting pink steam.

Harry traipsed back to his home, feeling a little bit shaken, and still a bit sickeningly cold. His robes were marked with bloodstains and his hair was looked too ghastly for words. All he really wanted to do was flop onto his soft, comfortable feather bed and sleep for a century and forget everything he wanted to forget. He was still so irritated by the fact that his teammates still found it in themselves to argue while he was spitting blood out and drinking some horrid tasting pink gak.

"This is all your fault, Odwin!" Wood had yelled, as they stood behind Harry, watching.

"_My_ fault, is it? If anything, it's Bradley's fault---wasn't it _him_ who hit the bludger?" Odwin retorted.

"_Excuse me?"_ Bradley bellowed.

And so it began once again. Harry shuddered as he remembered it. He shifted his gaze on his front porch. He was on the home stretch.

But then again, life was never that kind to Harry Potter. So it wasn't so surprising that when he entered his home, he found somebody had beaten him to the coach in front of the fire.

"Liz? How did you---"

"You've already forgotten that I know where you hide your spare key?" Liz muttered, getting up slowly from the cushions, twirling a tiny silver key with her delicate fingers.

Harry scolded himself internally for forgetting to change its hiding place.

"If you've forgotten that… then it really _has_ been a long time, hasn't it?" she murmured, as she walked toward him.

Her voice sounded strange. It was a bit strangled and throaty. Her eyes were pink and puffy.

"Liz---Liz what's wrong?" Harry noticed tears welling up in those dark brown eyes. Anxiety was beginning to course through his veins. Liz wasn't the type of girl who let her feelings show so much. But right now she looked as if she were breaking. He should know. She broke him, after all.

"Oh Harry! I didn't know who else I could turn to… I just… I just…" her knees buckled as her tears began to surge through her eyelids. Harry caught her before she hit the ground. He never held her tighter.

"He's _dead_, Harry… Papi's dead…" she managed to say in between sobs. And that's all she could bring herself to say.

Harry's stomach dropped like a piece of lead in a pool of water. Grandpapi Ramirez was… _gone_? That sprightly old man he used to play _Cargaburro_ with when he would go visit Liz's family?

No way. He couldn't be gone.

Papi couldn't speak a word of English but… but there was always a connection between them somehow---an unspoken one that was just felt.

He remembered the first game they ever played. Liz had gone with her parents and a few of her aunts to get a few things for the festival later that day and Harry was left with Papi on the front terrace. A tattered set of playing cards lay scattered on the floor. Harry thought the old man had been sleeping. His bushy white mustache was twitching and his eyes were shut.

Harry started getting bored. He drummed his fingers on the arms of the white chair he was sitting on. He tried whistling but it sounded more like air than anything else so he stopped attempting this feat after a short while.

He wished he could've gone with Liz but she had expressly told him to stay with her grandfather. He shot the snoozing old man another look. This was apparently going to be loads of fun. Harry wondered where all of Liz's cousins were because he was in dire need of company that would rather do something more entertaining than sleep. He knew she had tons of them. They were a great big family of wizards, muggles and squibs even (but the latter two were rare finds)---so where were they?

Harry sighed. He tried counting the cracks on the wooden boards beneath him. He got lost at number three hundred and eighty-seven but those playing cards caught his eye. He gathered the whole lot of them and started playing solitaire on the stoops. He was already beginning to accept that this game would only keep him occupied for about half an hour when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Harry looked up suddenly, being faintly startled. The old man was staring down upon him warmly. He was holding the straw hat that was once resting on top of his head, in his pale, withered hands.

"Um, yes? Is there something you want?" said Harry, not sure whether he could be understood.

"_Abes jugar Cargaburro?"_ was Papi's reply to him. This was the first thing he ever told Harry. And it was on the short list of words Harry had ever heard him speak.

Harry would later on find out from Liz that this phrase meant 'Do you play _Cargaburro_?' But for that moment in time when he was devoid of such translations, Harry stared blankly back at Papi. After all, he couldn't speak Spanish. But it seemed that Papi could speak nothing _but_ Spanish. Fantastic.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked slowly.

"_Abes jugar Cargaburro?" _The old man repeated, now grinning warmly at him.

"Um, sorry, I don't speak Spanish, sir." Harry tried to explain but the old man just looked confused at this pronouncement.

Harry tried to remember those Spanish soap operas Aunt Petunia sometimes watched. There must be _something_ useful he picked up from there. What did those American characters say in those shows again?

"Er, _no habla Espanol_, sir…" said Harry awkwardly.

The old man chuckled. Harry knew he must've spoken that phrase really terribly but at least Papi understood what he had just said.

"_No te preocupes---es facil_," smiled Papi, putting one of his wrinkled hands on Harry's shoulder.

Then he began to shuffle the cards and gesturing to Harry how to get started. It was slow work at first but Papi was a patient man and it didn't seem as though it bothered him to repeat his pantomimes.

Soon they were playing round after round after round. It was a simple game but the linkage between the two players was anything but simple. It was almost as if Harry had known Papi once before and this elementary carouse was what kept it alive. So they kept playing until all the members of the Ramirez clan had ambled into the house. They kept playing after sundown. They kept playing until the crickets started their nightly opera. It was such a great goad to have to stop. But Mrs. Ramirez was getting quite exasperated with the pair of them. And the dinner table was practically groaning at their absence.

This was the birth of a new tradition at the Ramirez household.

But as Harry heard the overflowing sobs of Elizabeth, he knew that this tradition had come to an end. He sat there on the cold floor, cradling her in his arms, unable to speak, unable to move. It was almost as if his couldn't breath.

He envied Liz for she could cry.

His sorrow, it seemed, was well beyond tears.

He didn't know how long they were there. It was like time had taken up a standstill. Harry didn't even notice that Liz had lapsed into grief stricken silence. He was too overwhelmed by his own woe that it was almost as if he was worlds apart from everything that surrounded him. He felt so numb… so empty… so fragile. If a strong gust of wind were to blow, he thought, it might very well take me with it. He hoped it would.

"Harry?" said a voice meekly.

Harry slowly turned his head down to look at Liz who was lying down on his lap. She got up and made herself level with his brilliant green eyes.

"I miss you," and with that, she kissed him.

It was as if he were falling. Like his grief was pouring into her and hers was pouring into him, filling him up with such acute intensity that it was emanating from him as steam did with boiling water. He could not explain it. He was drowning in a sea of so many mixed emotions but he did not struggle. It was filling the void that was threatening to engulf him in its darkness.

He was so caught up in this passion that he did not hear the creaking of his door. He had left it unlocked. But it did not stay open for long. It was closed quick as a snap, almost as if it never happened.

Almost.


	6. Strange Courses

Chapter VI - Strange Courses

_Harry was being sucked into a whirl of color and oil paint… faces were arising from the pigments. Forms that looked like his friends started materializing, laughing at him, molting into each other. They were muttering at him, shoving him with their sticky hands, staining his robes with their glutinous color._

"_Not everything that you've dismissed should be dismissed." _

"_It's good…"_

"_Abes jugar Cargaburro?"_

"_Did you snog, Hermione?"_

"_I miss you, Harry… Harry…Harry…"_

_They were getting louder… pushing… shoving… screeching… shrieking…_

_Suddenly he was falling and all the color that once surrounded him had now dissolved into blackness. He was screaming a scream that was left unheard. The darkness mocked his lost, light-seeking eyes as the unforgiving wind rushed through him, his heart threatening to break out of his chest all the while. He did not know how long he was falling. He just kept his hand pressed tight to his heart, praying that the pain it was giving him would cease. But no such thing happened to him. _

_It was when he was finally giving up hope that this torture would ever stop, that it finally did. Just as sudden as it had began, he felt himself plop down softly on a floor he could not see. Everything was just as black as when he was falling. _

_Shivers ran up and down Harry's spine, chasing themselves across his body. The eerie emptiness of it all was pressing in on him as if a pillow were suffocating him as he slept. _

_Then suddenly a figure appeared before him. It was not one of those paint people. It was Liz. Harry felt immensely relieved at her sight somehow. She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled warmly at him. She fitted her hands into his and suddenly colors started appearing in hazes right before his eyes, replacing the void. These colors began taking shape, crisscrossing, colliding and combining. Harry began to realize what was materializing before him. His eyes widened in disbelief and outright confusion._

_He turned to Liz, hoping for answers but…it wasn't Liz who looked back at him. Hermione's glinting brown eyes and warm smile was all he saw before she leaned in and kissed him before he could do or say anything. She kissed him as _Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlor_ finally stood solid in the background._

_He did not wish for it to end. He had never felt so much intensity in his whole life. The fact that it was Hermione did not matter to him at all. If anything… it felt _right_. Almost as if this is the way things should have been from the very beginning. It was a completeness Harry had never dreamt possible. And he embraced it as he did her. Shivers ran up his spine and sweet electricity jolted his every nerve as he touched her silken skin, and caressed her soft, cherry lips. _

_Then everything ripped away from him so suddenly, it took him a while before he realized that she had disappeared. His insides went cold and an evil wind started to blow through the empty parlor. He heard cutlery chinking eerily in the kitchens, glass started shattering all around him, the floorboards were squeaking, the chairs and tables rattling dangerously, and paper started zooming into frenzy as if the place were housing a small tornado. _

"_WHERE IS SHE? BRING HER BACK!" Harry shouted menacingly. The wind howled more fiercely, and he sensed a cackle in it as well. Rage filled Harry's heart and everything convulsed more profusely around the room. _

"_You can't have her---you'll lose her like you lost us," said a voice from behind. Harry whirled around to find his godfather staring grimly at him. His grey eyes were lit in an unforgiving light and Harry quailed under them. He looked away and found he was surrounded by forms enveloped in shadow. He saw none of their features but he knew who they were and fear and guilt pressed over his senses, smothering him._

"_I---I didn't lose you! It wasn't my fault… I couldn't do anything!" Harry tried to defend himself. _

"_Look into your heart, Harry. You know these words you speak are false," Sirius said in a deadly tone so pronounced, it was enough to make Harry's ears bleed._

"_IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" _

Harry's eyes opened in a snap, screaming those last words into the night, drenched in cold sweat, and his heart hammering wildly in his chest. His breathing was short and difficult, and he felt pale and vulnerable. He pressed his shaking hands to his face and took a few steadying breaths.

This was not the first time and he knew what he must do. He opened the drawer of his bedside table and began feeling around it, finding the glass bottle he was searching for fairly quickly. He reached for the cup on the table, poured out a small draught of the potion within the bottle. He drank and felt instantly comforted knowing that dreams would not trouble him any longer tonight. He blinked blearily for but moments, turned over and fell back into slumber, forgetting the dream he just had.

"Wait. Let me get this straight. You came home from practice and fell asleep once you hit the bed?" Ron repeated. It was early afternoon. Harry had just woken up and was having a conversation with his best friend over brunch. There was a hint of acrimony in his best friend's voice especially when he said, "Are you sure you're telling me everything?"

Harry was thrown. Was he being that obvious?

"Yes. Why?" Harry mumbled uneasily. He didn't know why he wasn't telling Ron what happened with him and Liz after practice.

There wasn't anything… bad in it. They kissed. That was all. _Ah, but what a kiss…_ Harry thought vaguely. It seemed as if they were getting back together. But she left for another tour soon afterward, before they could talk about it. And really, with all that happened… it was too much already. It had to be given time. But Harry felt that until everything was official… what happened that day should just remain between him and Liz for the time being.

"You can't be telling me everything, Harry because… what about Hermione?" Ron knitted his eyebrows together in puzzlement, the strange note in his voice getting more pronounced with every syllable he uttered.

"Hermione? What about Herm---" Harry's eyes widened in shock. _Hermione!_ He had forgotten all about her!

"Oh no, you _didn't_!" Ron clapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "She's going to be in a right state with you, mate. Hermione really gets touchy with this sort of thing!"

Harry ran the events of last night through his mind once more. He didn't hear a doorbell or a knock… nothing. She couldn't have been there. Hermione wasn't dim enough to just wait around outside a door, hoping it would swing open. She would've called for him. But he had to make sure. Hermione was scary when she was angry.

"I'll talk to you later," Harry said hurriedly and Ron disappeared from the fire.

Harry couldn't believe it. How could he have forgotten? How could he have been so stupid?

He threw some Floo Powder into the grate, muttered Hermione's address and plunged his head into the flames.

"Hermione?" Harry called, looking around Hermione's bedroom. All he could see though was half of it. A small coffee table, a comfortable looking beige sofa, an intricately pattered rug and white walls mounted with more than a dozen framed, moving photographs were all that was before him. The rest of the chamber was evidently on the other side and probably better that it was.

There was a loud _thud!_ that came from somewhere outside Harry's field of vision. Then, "Harry?" screeched Hermione's voice which sounded oddly strangled.

There was a sound of shuffling feet, one more _thud!_ and then the shutting of a door.

"Hermione? Is that you? What's happening?" said Harry, wholeheartedly confused.

"Just a minute!" she yelled. She seemed to have scrambled into the bathroom. Harry rolled his eyes. _Girls!_

He began hearing lots of little noises like the chinking of metal and wood upon a marble surface, a weird scraping sound and running water. What was she _doing_ in there?

"Hermione, you do remember that it's hard work to keep my head in this position, don't you? It's already getting stiff!" Harry called, using his right hand to massage his neck.

"I'm almost done!" she reassured him.

What was it with girls and getting ready? He didn't see why she had to go through such an arduous ritual just to talk to him. He had known her for eight years and seen her looking her very worst. Surely she didn't think he'd care now?

"HERM--- !" Harry started but just then his friend, at long last, came into view. She was in a white tank top and in a pair of cozy shorts. She had tied her hair in a high pony tail, she looked oddly flushed and her eyes slightly puffy.

"What were you up to in there?" Harry asked, trying to suppress any aggravation he might be feeling at the moment. He was about to ask for her forgiveness, don't forget. Instead, he tried to sound slightly puzzled. Whether he was able to pull it off or not, remains to be a mystery.

"I looked awful a while ago! I was a total mess! I just couldn't bring myself to frighten you with my appearance," she joked.

Harry was about to say that he'd probably seen her in worse and that he didn't really mind if she looked like she climbed out of a dumpster but thought better of it. He felt that there was some sort of an insult somewhere in there.

He pursed his lips and got onto the topic he came to discuss. "Hermione, where were you last night?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously. Her gaze turned icy but it did not reach her voice. "Oh, I'm sorry! I completely forgot! I had to stay late at the ministry. I _knew_ I was forgetting something! Was it an awful trifle?"

"No, no---not at all! I had my own plans last night as well. I was just checking if you had come and waited for me when I wasn't home!" Harry said in relief.

Hermione muttered something sharp under her breath that Harry didn't quite catch then it was followed by three large sneezes.

"That's a nasty cold," Harry mused.

"It's not a---yes, yes it is. Must be from overwork," Hermione smiled uneasily. "Well, I have to go get ready… so… I'll be seeing you!"

"Yeah. Bye. Don't work too hard; it's draining you of your health."

_Pop!_

"Well that was… interesting," Harry spoke aloud as he extracted his head from the blaze.

Harry wondered quietly to himself about what could possibly be up with Hermione. He knew she had always been a bit queer but then again, she was also tiresomely good at keeping her queerness in check. But all the same, Harry pondered on what might be wrong with her this time. He was feeling a bit queer himself about the whole affair but all this went unexplained for the day and a couple of other days at that.

Tension was mounting so early on in Harry's week already. Things were weird with Liz. She was still away. He did not know where exactly she was right about now or how best to contact her. And even if he did, he didn't want to bother her when her schedule was full. Things tend to go badly whenever he did that.

His next big game was two weeks and four days away. He knew as well as anybody else that they only had this game with the Wigtown Wanderers and the next one to qualify for playoffs. He didn't have to worry about the other games in between; he could trade positions with Crandlewick for some of them. Harry could feel the burning sensation of competition bubbling inside him. It was the home stretch and the rope was getting taut.

Then he got a visit that afternoon that reminded him of a few other duties he was obligated to see through.

"Lupin?" Harry said, bewildered when he opened his door to find the Marauder there. "What're you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too. Aren't you going to invite me in?" Lupin said in mock hurt.

"Oh right…" Harry grinned embarrassedly and stood aside for his friend to enter.

Lupin stepped inside and headed straight for Harry's living room and Harry followed suit after carefully shutting the door.

"So what _are_ you doing here?" Harry repeated.

"If you've forgotten already, I _am_ getting married. And you're best man," Lupin answered.

"Yeah, I knew that but---"

"So, rehearsal for the ceremony is the day before the wedding, which will be on the Saturday three weeks from now. You're expected to keep the ring and---"

"To throw you a bachelor's party?" Harry guffawed.

Lupin turned scarlet and cleared his throat loudly but to no avail. Harry was already clutching his stomach because of his vehement laughter.

"I wasn't going to say that, for your information," Lupin said as firmly as he could, the scarlet color on his cheeks turning steadily deeper. "I was going to say that you're expected to keep the ring _and not loose it_ as it cost me a good part of my life's savings."

"Of course… whatever you say," Harry smirked as he steadied himself.

"All right, on a further note… you'll need white dress robes," Lupin went on.

"White? Why white?" Harry asked. His own dressrobes (which he bought just a few months ago) were a nice shade of bottle green. It looked almost like a trench coat. It suited him very well and was hoping for another occasion to use them.

"Tonks decided the color. I'm the groom, I'm just supposed to lie back and nod my head while she makes all the arrangements---or so she made perfectly clear."

" Right…"

"Do you have any idea when Hermione might be in? I need to speak to her as well. Unlike you, her dress robes have to be custom made as she's part of the bridal court. She'll need to attend a special fitting or something of the like."

"Oh, she'll be coming over for dinner. You can just wait for her."

"She's coming over for dinner?" Lupin's ears perked up and his eyebrows rose in apparent surprise. Then it transformed into a smugness Harry had never quite saw him wear before. Harry did not like it.

"It's nothing like what you're thinking," Harry explained, peeved.

"I wasn't thinking anything."

Harry rolled his eyes.

And so that night Lupin had dinner with them. Hermione was not wearing muggle clothes today but instead pale lavender silk robes with gold stars and violets embroidered on them. She looked quite bristled and weary to be honest, even wearier looking than Lupin in his ever-shabby robes.

"Hello Harry," she said politely when Harry opened the door that night. She did not look at him when she said this. Was Harry just imagining it or did she seem strangely distant since their talk in the fire?

"Hello yourself," Harry smiled broadly, dismissed the thought and concluded it that must be from her said overwork. He opened the door just enough for her Hermione to glimpse just who was in his house as well.

"L-Lupin? I-Is that you? Oh my---" she said in awe. The rest of her sentence was lost in her squealing. It had been too long since she'd seen him, with her schedule and all. She brushed past Harry in a flurry of rustling cloaks, robes and petticoats and gave Lupin a big hug.

"I've got so much to tell you! Sogie Gord just came up with this fabulous spell that might well revolutionize wizard communication forever! He's amazing, Sogie…" and she lead Lupin into the dining room without so much as a backward glance at Harry. He should've known that even weariness and overwork were not enough to curb her motor mouth. He could already hear her going on about what else her department was up to and the new updates on the Elvish Welfare bill she was trying to get support for.

Harry felt a bit unnerved about being forgotten so easily but he shook his head, closed and locked his door then bustled into the kitchen to serve dinner.

"---that you can talk to each other anytime and anywhere! It's wonderful! We're still working out the kinks. As of now, that emanation it produces turns into a green ball of fire and explodes in your face---Sogie's still being mopped up at St. Mungo's but he's going to be fine. Sogie's been through _much_ worse, if memory serves me correct," Hermione was saying as Harry placed some fried chicken on the table.

"Harry---I didn't know you could cook!" Lupin turned away from Hermione and looked up, amazed, at Harry who was now setting down the mashed potatoes.

"I can only do the simple stuff. I guess I owe Aunt Petunia for that," said Harry, looking as though he had found out something extremely strange as Lupin chuckled appreciatively.

Hermione watched Harry silently, looking slightly pensive behind the smile she was wearing. Harry could feel her gaze as he went back into the kitchen to fetch the refreshments and put the desserts in the freezer. Harry was just again wondering inwardly why she was acting so strange when, as if she could read his thoughts, broke her own silence and went back to her chatter.

Harry knitted his eyebrows together and looked at Hermione through the small pane of glass on the upper part of his white kitchen door. He couldn't explain it but his old friend Curiosity was never more awake and restless in any other time these past two years than it was now. He wanted to know what exactly Hermione was thinking. He wanted to know what she thought about him. He wanted to know what he could have possibly done wrong.

And then he remembered… he could know all these things but… he had to turn to an option he tried not to use unless there was no other alternative as it was a very invasive tactic. But then, he reasoned to himself, he'd just do it this one time and just for a little peak.

He raised his wand, about to put is Legilimency skills to use when the words caught in his throat. What was he doing? Why was it suddenly so important that he know what Hermione was thinking? To know what Hermione felt? He could just ask her… they were friends… they've always been great friends. A knot formed at the pit of his stomach as the kiss he had shared with her pushed its way back into his mind once more.

"Harry? Harry are you all right? What's keeping you?" Hermione's voice called out from the dining room.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! I just knocked something over, that's all," Harry shouted back before they could check up on him.

Harry steadied himself, placed the towel on the counter, picked up the tray he had dropped, placed the refreshments on them, and pushed the three banana splits he made into the freezer. He took a deep breath, plastered a smile that he thought adequately looked to say that nothing close to wrong had happened to him, and took the refreshments out and placed them on the table.

He took the seat beside Hermione and absentmindedly began taking food and putting it on his plate. He felt like his bowels were digesting themselves. He was relieved that Hermione was busy talking to Lupin because Harry was peering at Hermione about every ten seconds as they dug into their meals. He couldn't understand the thoughts that were going through his mind. They seemed to jumble up into an untidy heap inside his brain. What had Hermione done to him? Was it even Hermione? Was it him?

"Harry? Harry are you listening to me?"

Harry jerked out of his insensibility to see that Hermione was looking straight at him, one of her eyebrows arched higher than the other. Harry tried to mumble something but found that he couldn't get it out so he merely nodded.

"What were we talking about then?" she inquired.

"Ah… er… well…" Harry cast around for something that might have entered the recesses of his memory but he knew it was useless. Whatever entered through one ear must've slipped out through the other.

Hermione sighed as if she knew that was coming. "I was asking you if you were coming with us to the cemetery."

"Why would I want to do that?"

At this Lupin's own eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Harry don't you remember?" he asked.

"Remember what?"

"It'll be Luna's second death anniversary," said Hermione quietly, her eyes dimming.

Harry felt even worse at not recalling this. He could've kicked himself and liked it. He felt as if he was being slogged by that bludger again. But the pain seemed to be more drawn out… more lasting. He felt his stomach, almost as if expecting to see a gaping, bloody hole of some sort.

How could he not remember when she still visited him in his dreams when nights were straggled and cold? When the traumas of the years that were, poignantly moved out of their secluded corners in the back of his mind? How could he not remember when she was part of the reason he was still alive?

He felt ungrateful and wretched. The last moments of her life played painfully in his mind like a sick horror movie. His throat began to burn and his eyes were stinging. His hands shook, he felt himself get pale and his own cold sweat run down his body like it did just a few moments ago.

He could not let go of her still. After two years, the option of moving on was still not upon him. But how could he? How could he after what he said to her before she disappeared? How could he when he did not arrive in time to save her… to save her family? He could have. He knew he could have. He saw her… saw him… saw everything…

He shut his eyes forcefully and swallowed hard, refusing to break down. Not now. Not here.

"I'm sorry---I didn't mean to---I should've known---" Hermione looked worried and apologetic. If she had shown any hint of coldness toward him earlier, it seemed to have melted away. Her eyes were filling up, they darted uneasily from face to face, and her voice was cracking.

Lupin had turned away; the color seemed to have drained from him as well.

"It's all right," Harry cleared his throat loudly, wishing for the pain to leave it.

Hermione looked worriedly unconvinced and Lupin looked as if he had just jerked out of a trance. Neither of them knew what to say. Harry could tell that they did not know that he was still plagued by Luna's death. But it wasn't just her…

They did not understand. Not as much as he wanted them to anyway. And he didn't expect them to.

"Really. It's nothing. It's just harder for me, that's all," He found himself saying before he could stop himself. He regretted his rash decision of words because of the looks the two of them were giving him now… those looks were so familiar. Those looks were so familiarly infuriating.

"Don't look at me like that," he said flatly.

"Like what?" Lupin said softly.

"Like I'm some fragile child! I am _not_ fifteen years old anymore!" Harry bellowed, his temper rising.

At this, Lupin's skin proved that it could go even paler than any living human's and tears began welling up in Hermione's eyes. She did her best to hold back any sound that usually would come with these tears. The result of this made her look even more anguished than she already was. Harry was suddenly struck with deep remorse as he saw her weeping silently beside him.

"I---I'm sorry," Harry murmured.

Complete silence ensued throughout the rest of dinner. Lupin reminded Hermione of her fitting somewhere during the end of dessert but that was all. For the rest of it, they ate in an impenetrable silence that was ironically more deafening than Harry's yells.

Harry's eyes kept darting toward Hermione. He somehow felt he should apologize in a better manner. He even considered hugging her or patting her on the back or something… _anything_. He wanted to take everything back. This was not a nice way of reuniting with Lupin. They hadn't seen each other in a while and he hated blowing up on him when they finally did.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and touched close to nothing of the meal he had prepared. All he wanted to do was run up the stairs and lock himself in his room just to avoid the silence that had enveloped the three of them. It was that bad. Harry's ears were ringing painfully with it.

But suddenly, as if answering his plight, an extremely large Tawny owl shot out from nowhere and landed on Harry's carefully set table. It was a Ministry Owl, Harry noted as his eyes drifted on the seal stamped on the envelope. Harry pondered how the owl had gotten inside since he was pretty sure he had put a very powerful Sealing Charm on his house. But his quiet musings were lost in his relief. Any distraction seemed all too welcome at this point.

"I think it's for you," Lupin told Hermione in a strangely asphyxiated voice. Hermione had been in such a distraught daze that she didn't seem to have noticed the abnormally large, living, breathing, hooting specimen that was now picking at the contents of her plate.

"Oh---right," She mumbled, untying the letter on the owl's leg with shaking fingers. She unfurled the letter and the first time her eyes went over it, it seemed as though she were only seeing the inscriptions written in ridiculously neat cursive on the yellow parchment, but not coming close to understanding them.

She shut her eyes, took a deep, steadying breath and reread it. Then she suddenly stood up and said, "I---I have to go."

"What? Why?" Harry asked all though after he did so, he wondered why even bothered. If he were Hermione, he would have wanted to get out of there right away as well. He hadn't exactly played the good host tonight.

"I can't tell you now. It's ministry business and I think you know how it is over there. I'll tell you when I know everything's in the clear," she said cryptically and strode out of the dining area.

Harry instinctively followed her. He was only dimly aware Lupin had stayed where he was. And Harry felt it was extremely good of Lupin to do so.

"Hermione---wait!" Harry caught her wrist just in time. Her hands were only a few seconds away from grabbing her cloak and disapparating into the night.

She froze then slowly turned to look at him. He could not decipher her expression. He decided it must be mild surprise but he somehow knew that was only half of it. Her body turned cold and her cheeks flushed even though he could tell she was trying to control it.

"I really am sorry," Harry repeated, meaningfully. His brain was scolding him for being so despondently lame.

"It's quite all right, Harry. I'm sorry too. I'll see you tomorrow night, ok?" she said breezily. She then placed her palm on his cheek. Harry expected it to feel cold against his skin but… instead he never even noticed its temperature but the shots of electricity that it sent through his nerves. Then she let go, stepped out of the limits of his house and in one swish of a cloak… she was gone.

Harry stood there on his welcome mat, more stunned than when he found Lupin waiting patiently for him on his sidewalk, and more confused than after he had tried to probe Hermione's mind.

He lifted his own hand to the cheek Hermione had touched. His fingers trembled slightly and the nighttime breeze whipped his hair across his dazed face.


	7. Eclipsed

Chapter VII – Eclipsed

It was a windy out the day that Harry clutched a bouquet of flowers, heading toward a marble white gravestone, which was catching what soft light the clouds above had not enshrouded. At first he wasn't sure he had it in him to come at all but he thought it was finally time that he visited his friend.

There were a large number of people scattered about the area, their black cloaks billowing with the breeze. They seemed to be trying to keep the solemnity of their visit but their efforts were evidently still a bit lax. Most of them were chatting quietly with the rest, some even going so far as cracking some audacious jokes here and there. Children were running around, snatching flowers from other graves and picking out their petals, enjoying the way they were carried off by the wind. But there were still thankfully some that had kept their silence, receding into the shadows of the trees that surrounded the place.

Harry placed his flowers carefully in front of Luna's headstone. They were wildflowers, each a different color. He thought that would suit her, he never really knew her favorite flower. He took a seat on the grass and stared at the cold marble in front of him.

R. I. P.

Luna Lovegood

1981-1998

Beloved daughter, friend and companion.

May your untamed spirit run free and uncharted,

Finding everlasting peace in the liberty of forever…

Some of the people were beginning to realize that Harry was there. They called out his name and waved at him. Harry knew most of them but he would not allow himself to be bothered. He was too far gone inside his own silent reverie to acknowledge anybody at the moment. He ignored them and it seemed as though they had gotten the message that Harry needed whatever privacy they could allow him because they stopped trying to catch his attention after a certain point.

Harry was glad of it because now that they did, he could hear her voice again more clearly than ever before and could almost remember how she looked that it seemed as though she were seated right beside him. It surprised him that it did not hurt as much as it usually did. It was almost as if right now, he could feel that she had not indeed left him at all. Not like so many who loved him in his life already did.

And she had loved him dearly, he recalled with a pang of guilt, in a way he could not force himself to do. And it broke him when he had to tell her so. She could handle rejection better than most people, since she mostly had been shunned most of her life anyway. But it was not the rejection that ate at her but the valiant effort she put forward to keep on loving him. He wondered if she knew that it ate at him too. Ever since she had left them so suddenly, he was never really able to let his guilt go.

Everyday was a constant battle to repress all these painful memories but as he looked her name etched on the marble slab in front of him… all of them came rushing back as if a dam had burst within him.

It was the day before they ended term for the Christmas holidays, when everything started spiraling into too much frenzy for Harry to handle. Harry was not feeling all that festive during December that year. Things at the Order were at a tense point. Voldemort's plans were coming into play exactly as they had feared he would lay them out. He could no longer get a decent night's rest without horrible visions visiting his dreams, causing his tempter to grow even shorter. Studying and workload for N.E.W.T's were driving him insane. Occlumency lessons with Moody were even more treacherous than it ever was when Snape was his instructor. And to top it all of, his and Liz's "cool off" still seemed to be going strong since he was fuming that particular morning after seeing Liz having breakfast with Martin Grotesqo, a Hufflepuff 6th year.

Why did she want to go out with someone named Martin Grotesqo? What kind of a name was _Grotesqo_ for a normal human being anyway? He knew wizards had unusual names, but this was quite ridiculous. For that matter, what did she want with him at all? She never used to talk to him before and all of a sudden they were eating _breakfast_ together and _flirting_? He thought angrily as he paced the Room of Requirement. It was full of cluttered items. He had already thrown, flung, stomped, kicked, punched, cursed, hexed, and broken most of them yet his fury still remained in unhealthy unrest and in complete dissatisfaction. He sunk onto the floor and ran his hands forcefully through his hair. She was being so… _impossible_. She was getting back at him because she thought he was dating Ginny again. That had to be it.

He was just reaching for a book to become the outlet of latest wave of rage that had suddenly coursed its way through his body when someone walked in on him. It was like somebody had hit the pause button at the most suspenseful part of a movie.

"Harry? Harry, is that you?"

Harry craned his neck irritably to get a good look at the speaker. It was Luna. What did she think she was _doing_ here? How did she even get here?

"You stormed off in the middle of your kippers. I was worried," she said in a surprisingly firm manner.

Harry remained silent. He crossed his arms and looked stonily up at the ceiling. He didn't feel like talking to anyone right now.

"I was just making sure that your kippers weren't infested by Bloating Bruggers. They're really dangerous. They'll bloat your whole stomach up larger than a beach ball and then it'll explode. Dreadful, really. The Ministry should really enforce stricter food policies. My father'll be writing all about it in the next issue of the Quibbler," she prattled, without looking at him. She was talking so fast, she could've rivaled Hermione.

"Well obviously, that's not the reason," said Harry, finally finding a gap in his resentment to be able to reply.

"Of course, I gathered as much when I---"

"What do you _want_?" Harry said, more rudely than he'd intended.

Luna suddenly looked as if she had lost her footing. The firmness her voice seemed to have been boasting just a few moments before seemed to have dissipated. Her hands began to quiver and fresh beads of sweat were materializing on her pale forehead. Her steps echoed ominously as she made her way towards Harry. She then sat down nervously, hugging her knees bracingly to her chest.

"Harry, you're hurt aren't you? And not because of Bloating Bruggers," she began unsurely.

"Well, _that's_ a given," Harry said shortly.

"But you know, Liz---Liz isn't the _only_ girl in Hogwarts who's worth your time," she mumbled sorely.

"I don't care. She's the only girl I want and that's all that really matters," he said hotly, finally standing up, grabbing the book and giving it a good hard chuck towards the opposite wall.

Then he heard an odd choking noise and some scraping. He looked over his shoulder. Luna had suddenly turned scarlet and was hurriedly getting up from the floor.

"Where are _you_ going all of a sudden?" Harry asked, puzzled.

She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again and ran out of the room as fast as her legs could carry her. Harry rolled his eyes. He wondered what could possibly be up with her _this_ time.

If only he had known that would be the last time he'd ever see her… he would not have been so curt with her that morning. She left that afternoon for the Hogwarts express without a goodbye. She was hurt. More hurt than Harry thought she was. Even though he had wanted to apologize, he could not find her in time before the Thestrall-drawn carriages whisked its occupants to Hogsmeade Station. It was when the last carriage had disappeared from Harry's range of vision that Ginny had told him what Luna could have told Harry earlier if he had let her.

"You can be such a jerk sometimes, you know?" she said testily following Harry's gaze.

"Yeah I know, but I had good reason this morning. I don't even know why she was so angry anyway. I mean, I would've expected she'd be annoyed but she totally walked out on me," Harry exclaimed.

"Oh isn't it obvious?" she rolled her eyes at him as she pushed the double oak doors open.

"Isn't _what_ so obvious?" he raised an eyebrow at her as they headed back into the entrance hall.

"Harry!" she kneaded her cheeks in utter frustration. "Harry, she _likes_ you, all right? Possibly even _loves_ you. You understand now?"

Harry burst out laughing, the sound of his mirth echoing throughout the whole hall, making it seem as if an army of Harry clones were laughing all at the same time. He clutched his stomach with one hand and used the other to grip one the banisters of the stairs for support. His knees were giving way due the hilarity of the statement he had just heard Ginny mutter.

She, on the other hand, did not seem very amused. Quite the exact opposite, actually. Her eyes were narrowed into dangerous slits and her arms were crossed stiffly across her chest. Harry almost expected steam to start coming out of her ears. Her murderous glare quelled his amusement.

"Y-you can't be serious?" Harry steadied himself.

"Can't I?"

Before Harry could reply to Ginny, Hermione and Ron appeared at the top of the stairs. They seemed bursting with jubilance about something.

"Harry! Harry! You've _got_ to come up to Gryffindor tower now!" Hermione squealed, bounding down towards him like she had one too many cups of coffee a few hours back.

"Yeah, mate, Fred and George just sent the most awesome package. Ginny, you've got to come too. They sent something for you especially," Ron grinned, following Hermione's suit.

"Maybe later. I think I left something in the library. I've got to go get it first. I'll meet you there when I've collected it," She said. Harry couldn't tell if she was lying or not. She threw him one last meaningful look behind Ron's and Hermione's back before separating herself from their company.

From that day onwards, everything passed on in a nightmarish blur. Luna never came back from home. The first few days were all right. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary that students extended their visit home for a couple more days more. But it had been two weeks and Harry was anxious to talk to her and apologize. Apologize for more than just what he said to her that morning before her departure. He needed to apologize to her because he'd meant what he'd said.

"Where's Luna?" Harry panted, resting his arm on Ginny's shoulder. He had to run counter flow against the tide of students filing out for lunch. He was thanking the heavens for Ginny's stand-out fiery red hair. It was easy to spot in crowds.

"Noticed, have you?" Ginny said somewhat stonily. Harry felt her body turn rigid with tension.

"Why? Is something the matter?" He whispered in concern, lifting his arm of her shoulder, fearing she might slap it off at any second.

"I don't know, I haven't heard from her since the day she left," Harry saw the tension in her body ebb away as her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"I don't like it, Harry. I really don't," she looked up at him, the expression playing across her face indiscernible.

"You don't think---?"

"I don't know, Harry… I really don't," with that, Ginny broke their conversation off and resumed walking. Harry did not pursue her any longer. He felt it might not be the wisest thing to do.

Everything was getting way too aberrant as of late. Harry did not like the new feeling that was taking form in his stomach. He watched Ginny's head bob in and out of the crowd before he completely lost vision of her. Where was Luna? What was she doing? And more importantly, why hadn't she joined them in schooling yet? She couldn't be retreating because she was still irascible about what had happened between them that last day before Christmas break, could she? But in all honesty, Harry deeply hoped this was the reason of her absence. Better that than the prospect that there might be something more aphotic at work in this.

"He can't have gotten to her. He just can't have," then he turned on his heel and he himself went towards the Great Hall, debating with himself whether he should share these disturbing bits of information with Ron and Hermione.

The chatter inside the Great Hall as the Hogwarts students ate under its sunny, enchanted ceiling was making Harry's head throb painfully. He had already so much going on within his mind without the constant buzzing of his fellow pupils. He was angry because he was worried. He was angry because he just wanted to shut everyone up as well as his incessant thoughts. He didn't like feeling so unsure, so helpless, and so anxious. The last time he felt this upset was…

_No no…_ Harry tried to snap himself out of it, valiantly fighting the urge to think about these unfavorable contemplatives. He wanted to punch it out until his knuckles bled. He wanted to scream unendingly until he had nothing left in him to scream. But he couldn't do any of that which made him even angrier. So he tried to content himself by repeatedly spearing his sausages with very violent thrusts.

"Harry? You look strange. What's up?" Hermione said quietly, taking a seat beside him. Maybe she had noticed that he had reduced his sausages into ground beef? Or maybe she could see that steam was coming out of Harry's ears because he sure felt that he was literally fuming.

"I'm worried, all right?" Harry yelled, all his pent up rage exploding with every syllable he uttered. Hermione, though receiver of this unnecessary show of fury, did not looked the least bit abashed. Rather she frowned pensively, as though collecting her suspicions and putting it together with what she had gathered from Harry's outburst.

"You're finding it odd that Luna hasn't come back yet and hasn't sent any word?" she muttered.

"Yeah," Harry said shortly, trying in vain to keep his temper in check.

"I know. I've been thinking about it for quite some time as well. It doesn't make sense at all. My first thought was V-Voldemort but… the Order was positive he had left for Albania to take care of the you-know-what," said Hermione said in an undertone.

"You forget, Hermione… Voldemort doesn't have to be in London to inflict damage on us," Harry said darkly, his guts churning in what seemed like acid.

"Oh Harry… should we tell McGonagall? I mean, if you really think V-Voldemort has gotten to Luna."

"I just hope he didn't get to anyone aside from her too. I---"

Just then Ron came bounding into the seat on Harry's other side. His cheeks were pink with exhaustion and sweat was dribbling from his forehead. Harry eyes narrowed in exacerbated slits at the inexpedient interruption.

"So what have I missed?" he exclaimed brightly, his eyes darting from Hermione's irritable scowl to Harry's puzzled frown. His grin slowly fell and he seemed to be shrinking under his friends' less than happy expressions.

"Ron _where_ have you been?" Hermione inquired tersely.

"McGonagall. My mum asked her to say stuff to me. Oh that woman, sometimes I wonder if---"

"McGonagall's here?" Harry interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up in interest despite of himself.

"Sure she is, mate. But the old maid's dead busy. She barely had time to tell me what she needed to say. She told me she'd be leaving for the ministry in a while or something."

"LEAVING?" Harry and Hermione cried out in unison. Professor McGonagall couldn't leave! Not now! Harry, got up in a flash, planning on making a dash for McGonagall's office. Maybe he'd catch the Headmistress in time before she departed?

"Is anybody going to fill me in on whatever's gotten you so high strung or will I have to beat it out of you?" Ron huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

Hermione sighed, reached out for Harry's wrist and pulled him resignedly back to his seat, "We have some explaining to do." She said simply.

Harry threw one more hesitant gaze at the doors of the Great Hall before letting Hermione coax him back into his seat, feeling as if the weight that had resided in his chest was doubling.

Professor McGonagall was gone for a total of three days and when she was back, she was unavailable for another two. There could be no talking to the woman. She was working doubly hard to fill the shoes Professor Dumbledore had left. Also, to make matters worse, there continued to be no word from Luna and Harry's anxiety was starting to get the better of him because of it.

He could not concentrate on his lessons properly, his appetite was waning and his temperament was worsening. He kept throwing hopeful glances at the great oak double doors of the Entrance Hall, hoping she'd be walking through them, ready to tell them what idiosyncrasies had kept her from joining them. Every time the Ravenclaws would join them for the meals inside the Great Hall, Harry instinctively searched their number for a pale-skinned girl with long, dirty-blonde hair.

Harry had already sent word to the Order, informing them about their concerns. They simply replied to them saying that they were keeping an eye on things and for Harry not to worry. Harry knew that the Order's sources were more than reliable but then again, it did nothing to quell the unrest in Harry's subconscious.

"Why, _why_ can't I drop this?" Harry whispered to himself in one of his insomniac nights. He did not know that his question would be answered sooner than he had expected.

It happened during Charms that afternoon. It was a particularly dreary lesson that day and Harry's lack of sleep was getting to him. The corners of his vision were blurring. He began seeing double and his eyelids were drooping despite his efforts to try and keep them open. He cast a weary glance at Hermione whose quill was valiantly scratching away notes. She alone seemed immune to today's slumber-inducing lecture from Professor' Flitwick on the history and theory of spell invention.

He continued to focus his gaze on his friend's gentle quillwork, her fine strokes entrancing him. The sounds of the quill scratching on the parchment kept getting louder as he stared at its increasingly slowing movement. It was bobbing up and down… upp and doowwnn… its grating deafening, threatening to break his eardrums… uuppp and ddooowwwnnn… uuupppp and dddoooowwwwnnnn… uuuuppppp and ddddooooowwwwwnnnnn… he was screaming… time had completely stopped… he was screaming so loudly to try and drown out the one that was piercing his ears… his head was pounding… his ears throbbing… then everything blacked out.

It was as if he were on a stage with all the stage lights turned off. He knew he was in some sort of room. But his eyes weren't adjusted to this sudden bout of blackness that had enshrouded his vision. Indeed, he did not know if his sight had any power over what he could see for he did not know if he was dreaming or if he really was in some strange reality. Somehow, instincts told him he was in a room somewhere underground. He could hear a faint dripping on one corner, a few meters away from him. It was oddly stuffy like there was some sort of heating device somewhere around. He could hear struggling, muffled sobs and cries of agony a few steps away.

He took a step forward, his arms outstretched, trying in vain to feel his way around this unseen territory, and tripped over something left on the ground before him. There seemed to be all kinds of items strewn all over the floor. He lay flat on the mercifully cooler floor, closing his eyes; quietly dreading what would happen if he dared get up. But he decided to take his chances and got steadily off his feet. And when he opened his eyes again, he was taken aback by the scene that stood before him.

A whole basement had materialized right before his very eyes. There was a boiler on one side, emanating an orange-tinged glow, which thoroughly explained the heat. On another side, a leaking pipe was making puddles on the cement floor. There were shelves upon shelves of all kinds of tools and utilities and countless stacks of what appeared to be damp copies of _The Quibbler_. The only small window was boarded shut meaning that there was only one source of any light: the tiny light bulb swinging unreliably on a single rusted chain from the ceiling. Harry could hardly make out some of the parts of the room. And in those parts that remained swathed in darkness, he could hear what was unconsolingly like the squeaks of unwelcome rodents. Was it just him or were those squeaks getting louder? Was it just him or was sweat dripping down his back? Was it just him or was water soaking his shoes and into his socks? If this was indeed a dream… it felt uncomfortably real.

But there were more important things though, that quickly put these simple musings out of his mind. For there, in the middle of this underpinning was a pillar and tied to it was Luna Lovegood and her father. They were tightly bound and gagged. The ropes that adhered them seemed to be agonizingly cutting of their circulation enough to make it extremely harrowing but not enough to kill them. The gags that were knotted at the back of their heads were making the sides of their mouths bleed. Tears were shining in their terror-stricken faces.

Harry felt as if he had turned to ice in horror and shock. There were tremors on his skin and his eyes were popping. He was now quite sure that there was sweat forming on his temples. His body began to convulse. Where was he? What was this? Was it real? Could it be that Voldemort had succeeded to get past his Occlumency and were feeding him lies? Lies to get him to do something stupid?

There was a creaking sound behind him. The wheeled around in spite of himself and found that the door at the top of the wooden steps leading to the basement had opened. Then Harry felt oddly elated as a squat form of a man descended the steps with tall, pale- skinned figure. The pale one could not be called a man for he was so much more. He was the master and he was power. _They're going to torture those people who were tied up,_ Harry found himself thinking with glee. Maybe he would finally be able to taste some flesh… real flesh. He was oh so hungry for it. And oh how he craved it. His master would not leave him unsatisfied for long. No, no, no, no… not for long…

Then as the two beings drew level with Harry, he seemed as though he was coming to. He was alarmed at what had taken over his perception and thinking just moments before. His scar was maddeningly painful and it was all Harry could do to stop himself from falling to his knees. It was Voldemort, plain as day. His cold red eyes contorted in playful malice, his snake-like nostrils breathing freely and his long, sharp fingers caressing a narrow strip of wood that almost seemed evilly alive, itching to inflict suffering and ill will. And there beside him, his faithful, vile servant, Wormtail. He seemed even more weather beaten and sickly looking than Harry last laid eyes on him. His watery eyes uneasy though his silver hand was glinting readily, clenched in a fist. Harry's scar exploded in the addition of the loathing that suddenly coursed through his veins. But he felt no worry of being found out. He knew that Voldemort knew nothing of his presence there.

This was not the first time Harry had unwittingly been given access into the happenings in Voldemort's life. He must've entered the thoughts of Nagini a while back but now, he was relieved to find out he had left it and was now seeing these goings on in the third-person view, as the snake slithered around its possible victims quite a few feet away from Harry.

"Let the girl speak, Wormtail… and conjure up some sandwiches and some drink. It's tea time, after all. We'd be rude not to feed our… guests?" Voldemort chuckled, trying to sound as if they were all seated round a quaint tea table in a beautiful orchard while tea was poured in gold-patterned china.

"Yes of course, Your Lordship," Wormatail nodded, waved his wand a few times and on his shining hand appeared a tray of food and refreshments. He set them down on the sodden floor (the squeaks in the room reaching fever pitch), bent down and ripped the cloth off Luna's mouth in one violent movement. She screamed in agony at the force of it, new tears making their way down her cheeks.

"Now, now, Wormtail, we must remember to be _gentler_ with the ladies---good manners, you know," said Voldemort, his eyes glinting in sadistic pleasure.

If Wormtail heard this pronouncement, he showed nothing of it for he did not reply. He was busy keeping the rodents who were drawn out of their quiet corners by the smell of the sandwiches and cool lemonade, a good fair ways away.

"Hello, Luna. Here we are again, only an hour after my last visit, as I promised," Voldemort grinned, showing an array of threatening-looking incisors, casting his glance to Luna's father in particular. "I do hope you're ready to talk to me now?"

Luna had been sobbing freely before then but at those words, her eyes became slits of cold fury and she spat out the blood that had collected in her mouth at the Dark Lord's feet. "I told you, I don't know who are in the Order _or_ their plans… and even if I did… I wouldn't tell you even if you offered me the thinksaps of all the Nurgs in the countryside!"

Voldemort looked slightly taken aback by Luna's last few words but soon took in the meaning of ones that came before it. He still showed no air of impatience though his eyes flashed dangerously. "Why do people of your sort have to be so atrociously difficult? I daresay our dear Harry Potter has talked to you often enough to give you _some_ inkling of the Order's goings on? Just tell me and I will let you all go without another word, I promise! And you can finally dig into these delicious sandwiches after your... erm… long diet?"

Harry looked frantically at Luna, tears, sweat and blood dribbling from her face down to her robes, looking frightened but defiantly resolute. Then at her father, who probably would have echoed his daughter's emotions but it seemed as though most of his attention was being drained by the fresh, deadly looking snakebite near his ankle which there was a constant trickle of blood mixing with the water from the leaking pipe. He was screaming louder, getting steadily paler, his whole body drenched in sweat. Lastly, he looked at Wormtail who had receeded into the shadows, trying to shush his disgusting friends. Harry made to draw out his wand, curse the fiends and free the Lovegoods but he could not control his limbs. What could he do? Was there anything to be done? He felt despairingly helpless, hate and anger oozing out of his pores, his scar still painfully throbbing all the while.

"I don't know anything. He doesn't tell me anything!" Luna maintained firmly, though she seemed to be shaking now.

"Nagini biting your father wasn't enough, was it? He's going to die soon if you don't tell me anything, Nagini's venom is quite fast acting and it keeps his wound open---the potion I gave him to regulate its flow will not serve him for much longer. Come now, I can still reverse the effects of her venom," Voldemort offered politely. Harry almost swore that Voldemort looked straight at him. But Harry's attention was still more focused on Luna. She had turned away sorrowfully from the Dark Lord. He knew she was unwilling to sacrifice her father but equally unwilling to compromise the Order. _Hang in there Luna!_ Harry thought frantically. Help---he had to call for help somehow! He tried focusing his thoughts toward McGonagall, Lupin, Tonks---anyone in the Order---trying to use Legilimency but then---

"Perhaps a bit of pain will loosen you up? You know, I didn't really want to do this, but you leave me with no choice," Voldemort smirked as if glad to find an excuse to administer throe, raised his wand to point at Luna who was now bathed in a frightened sweat and muttered, _"Crucio!"_

Harry's brain filled with her shrieks of anguish, the pain in his scar blinding and he felt himself screaming himself hoarse along with her. His emotions conflicted each other. One side felt downright ecstatic and the other dreadfully tormented. He was bursting, his head felt as though it were splitting open. The affliction was enough to kill him. His eyes were rolling madly and he was beginning to froth at the mouth. Somebody was shaking him, getting more forceful by the minute. Somebody was calling his name as well! Had Voldemort finally found him out? Was he about to be tortured and killed too? He couldn't---not now! He had to save them! He had to!

"_HARRY! HARRY! SNAP OUT OF IT, HARRY! HARRY!"_

At first all Harry could see was black then it began to abate into blurs. He now recognized the voice that was calling to him as if from a distance. It was Hermione's. It sounded enveloped in terror and shock. Then he realized she was in front of him, shaking him awake on the floor of the History of Magic classroom. Harry seemed to have fallen off his desk. He started to regain control of his body. He seized Hermione's shoulders and cried in a panic-stricken voice, "I know w-w-where L-Luna is---he's g-got her! We have to go see D-Dumbledore! NOW!" He threw all he had into the last syllable he uttered.

The people all around them who seemed to have been holding their breath broke their silence and began murmuring, covering the room in whispered chatter, no doubt alarmed by Harry's screams and his mentioning of the late Headmaster. Professor Flitwick had stopped mid-sentence on the pile of books he was standing on, at a loss of what to do. Harry knew by a look that the little man in front of him never had such a hitherto take place in his class before. There was no time to linger though. By the time Harry was done with speaking, Ron and Hermione had hauled Harry to his feet and began escorting him out of the classroom, making for the direction of the Headmaster's office.

"We're sorry Professor Flitwick but this is quite urgent!" Hermione managed to say before they were completely out of the doorway. Harry thought he heard Professor Flitwick mutter a dumbstruck, "O-Of course," before everything was swallowed up by the outburst of noise from the students.

They walked in perturbed silence most of the while, their slow footsteps echoing eerily around the empty hallways. Harry could feel the furtive glances of his friends upon him as they shouldered his half-dead weight. Harry felt so worn and wrung. Never in his whole life had his visions of Voldemort been so vivid. Could they have possibly been planted as was with the one he had about Sirius? Or real like the one that had saved Mr Weasley? He could not be wrong again. He would not take anymore stupid and uncalculated chances. If he were completely honest with himself, he wanted to barge into that basement as soon as he possibly could and deal with the Dark Lord himself, like he had done so many times before. But he had learned not to take such moves and he would not do it again. Not without proper aid by his side and this, sadly, did not mean Ron and Hermione.

"What did you see, Harry?" Ron muttered quietly as they made their way down a particularly deserted corridor. He seemed slightly apprehensive as though torn whether he should be asking such a thing of his best friend at this time.

Harry was tiredly dragging his feet along, it was arduous work even though Ron and Hermione were on each side of his, supporting probably most of his weight. He cast a weary glance at Ron, considering him for a while. "You can hear exactly what happened when I go tell Dumbledore. I don't care if McGonagall's not there now. It's Dumbledore we need."

"Oh, yeah. Of course," Ron grinned uneasily, his ears turning slightly scarlet.

"Sugar Quill," Hermione muttered clearly, taking Harry aback slightly that they were already in front of the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. It sprang to life when Hermione said what was apparently the correct password, then leapt aside revealing the spiral stone staircase rising steadily up beyond their vision. "Come on!"

They stepped onto one of the moving steps and were slowly carried upwards until they faced wooden doors and the doorknocker in the form of a griffin. Hermione confidently grasped it and gave three short taps against the dark wood. Harry heard no noise from inside. How were they supposed to get in there now? Harry looked worriedly at his friends. He knew Dumbledore was there… but he just wasn't physically able to open doors anymore like he used to.

"Try again, Hermione," Ron said uneasily, trying to keep his voice steady and optimistic. Hermione rapped once more.

"Come on, open!" Harry pleaded, trying to push the doors open. They needed Dumbledore now more than ever.

Mercifully, after a couple more noisy attempts to force entry, the doors slowly opened to admit them and they entered into the handsomely furnished circular room that used to be Dumbledore's office. The odd sounds from the queer silver instruments and devices that occupied the shelves seemed oddly bothersome even through a great number of them had been put away through the course of this year.

Harry looked to the perch where Fawkes the Phoenix used to be. Harry wished he was still there now so that he could sing them a sliver of hope to comfort Harry's racing heart. But he was not there today. Ron and Hermione sat Harry down on one of the chairs in front of the Headmaster's desk, looking apprehensively around.

"I am… sorry to keep you waiting," said a voice from behind them. Dumbledore had suddenly appeared in a picture frame hanging on the wall, somewhere to their left. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. This figure moving within that canvas was merely an echo of what had been the real Dumbledore but Harry knew that even an echo, just as long as it was Dumbledore, would be more help to them than the combined forces of everyone else on earth.

"I assume you have come here to tell me something very important?" Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes twinkling.

Dumbledore kept his silence throughout Harry's narration all though he knitted his eyebrows together in some moments and his twinkle seemed to change into a blazing flame. Hermione and Ron on the other hand, were making their thoughts and reactions very audible indeed. There were times when Harry appreciated this but right now, it seemed quite more of a hindrance and it was very trying on his taut nerves. But when he finished, it was to an uneasy silence. Hermione was drying her eyes in a corner, Ron was shaking, and Dumbledore still kept his blue eyes on Harry though it seemed as though he was lost in thought.

"This does not do," he said after sometime. He got up and paced around his frame. "I have suspected this since McGonagall informed me of her first absence. Strange reports have been coming to the Order as of late warning me of this sort of an attack. But we had searched Luna's house many times---not often enough though, it seems. Well, I assure you that this will be dealt with immediately. But in the meantime, you must get back to your lessons. I will keep you informed."

"Wait, Professor… I need to ask you a few things," Harry said frantically, his grip tightening on the armrests of his chair. Dumbledore considered him for a few moments, then nodded his head for Harry to proceed.

"Do you think it's real this time?" He asked simply, searching Dumbledore's expression.

"I am hoping it is not, as one always does when one is faced with troubling news of this sort. Though as I said, it sadly fits into my suspicions," Dumbledore replied uncomfortably, looking down sadly.

There was silence for a while and Harry became aware that the other former headmasters were passing into each other's frame's, murmuring to each other. He had the wild urge to tear them all off the wall.

"Why Luna? She didn't know much of anything at all! It doesn't fit with his other attacks. If he wanted to get information, couldn't he just have captured another Order member like Mundungus? Couldn't he just use Legilimency?" Harry pressed on heatedly.

"It is not as easy as you think to capture one of our number. Mundungus was merely careless with his dealings, though I had warned him many times to take his steps more carefully. And yes, he could easily use Legilimency but… information is not what he really desires. I believe, Harry, he may have captured the Lovegoods for a different reason," Dumbledore looked up, his fiery blue eyes meeting Harry's bright green ones.

"And what reason could that be?" Piped in Hermione, her voice cracking.

Everyone turned and stared at her. Harry had almost forgotten Ron and Hermione were even there.

"As a warning move or a signal that the _real_ war is about to begin. He has enough information; he has a strong enough foothold, and a sufficient following to more than rival ours. This is to get at us---possibly provoke us to enough anger to get us to play into his advantage. He is playing with us. That is why he allowed you to access to those visions again. I can think of nothing else for it. I am sorry to say it Harry but I think it is time for you to take another prolonged absence from school and find that last Horcrux. Time is tunning out." Dumbledore finished.

There was another stunned silence, but this time all the spectators could not find it in themselves to utter any sort of sound. It stayed this way for quite some time and the noise coming from the silver contraptions began to numb their eardrums.

"I think it is now time for you to take your leave? There will be enough time for questions on the next time Minerva calls for you," Dumbledore said finally after some time.

Harry hesitated for a few more moments. He wanted to be able to do something more, even if it meant just staying in this office doing nothing. He had to be there in case McGonagall came back---maybe he could convince her to take him straight to the Order! He couldn't just go back! But Hermione tugged him off his chair and urged him that they must leave. She was unnaturally forceful this time for some reason. He struggled but she would not let him go and Ron soon took Harry's other arm. Harry let out a cry of frustration and angrily let them steer him from the office.

He could not concentrate on anymore of his lessons after that, much to his teachers' chagrin nor could he sleep when night crept into replace the day. Ron and Hermione sat with him in the common room the whole night through, sitting in their usual places in front of the fire. They waited with him silently as the chamber slowly emptied of its unburdened occupants. Their gaze was often drawn to the portrait hole, thinking that any second now; Dumbledore may call them with his news. It was good that it was a weekend the next day. Harry could not endure a whole day's schoolwork with no sleep and with such air of vexation upon him.

They barely spoke. Indeed, they could find nothing much to say. There were occasional bits of conversation but they were quickly put out.

"She'll be all right, won't she, Harry?" Ron asked timidly at about three in the morning.

Harry hung his head. He did not know the reply to that inquiry, since he himself was asking the exact same question. The minutes trickled by so slowly that Harry sometimes wondered if time had simply forgotten to move forward. But despite all this, no sleep came over them. Worry had too much power over them and it intensified along with another strong emotion as time passed him by.

He felt the burning sensation to just throw caution to the winds, steal a pouch of Floo Powder and travel to Luna's fireplace. He did not know how he could possibly achieve this feat or what he would do when he did. There wasn't much to hope that Voldemort had only brought Wormtail along with him. But he had done it before. He had escaped their numerous ranks numerous times in the past. Surely, he could manage another escape of the sort? He was older, wiser and more experienced. He had to do something. He could not just sit here and wait. He made to get up and make a run for it. His adrenaline levels had shot up, egging him on but his mind was not yet overruled.

A voice somewhere inside of him was warning him not to tempt fate. Reminding him of what had happened on the occasions that he had let his inclinations to run away with him. He had lost many. Most importantly, he had lost Sirius. He sank back into his chair, defeated. Who would he lose this time? He gazed at his two friends who were sitting apprehensively in the couches next to him. He could not risk it. Not again.

Then at last, the night was lifting. No faint rays of the early morning sunshine had made their way through the glass panes of the common room but it was slowly getting there. It was at this time that Professor McGonagall clambered in to call them back to the Headmaster's office. Her face seemed grave and her eyes seemed thick with pent up emotion. Harry did not like the looks of this. He exchanged glances with his friends, who echoed his notions.

They followed Professor McGonagall's gait, eager to be put out of their misery. If only they knew then that they would just sink even deeper into its pit than being alleviated from it, maybe they may not have walked so quickly.

Dumbledore was looking even graver when they entered. He seemed much stressed, and deeply pained. He did not seem as though he was as eager to tell them what he had found out. But he knew he must and that is why he said the following words, "You must keep your heads when I tell you what I sadly need to tell you. I cannot allow for you to do what you did in your fifth year, Harry," he said, his gaze hardening on Harry's bright green eyes. "Luna was found less than half an hour after you came to me, the Dark Mark hovering above her home. She was suffering the tolls of a snake bite, though we found no sign of her father when we got there. We have reason to believe that he was completely devoured by the snake that administered the bite.

"A couple more Death Eaters had made residence in their household other than Wormtail and of course, Voldemort. So it proved wise that you did not give into your impulses again, Harry. I am just sorry that we had not gotten there sooner. Luna was still alive, but the liberal amounts of venom that was injected into her body in her weakened state worked against us. She had lost so much blood and since there was nothing administered on her before our arrival to stop the venom from spreading …we lost her only a few hours after she was found."

As the memory came to a close Harry found that he was sobbing freely without him noticing. He gazed at the two headstones beside Luna's. It was that of her parents. One of them, of course, was empty except for a hundred or so pictures. Harry's tears were still fresh on the grass above Luna's grave.

Before he had anytime to dry the ones still making themselves down his cheeks or do or think much of anything at all, there were soft footsteps that stopped shortly beside him. The owner of the feet that made them, crouched down to his level and offered him her hand and said in a low voice, "Come with me. There is a chapter we must draw to a close."


	8. The Veil of Ninthaeil Barrh

Chapter VIII - The Veil of Ninthaeil-Barrh

Harry looked up, startled. Hermione was looking gravely at him, dressed in robes of black velvet, the wind softly blowing through her curly russet hair. Harry suddenly felt ashamed of his apparent show of emotion. He knew he must've looked tear-stained and scarlet. He did not know why but it was an upsetting matter that Hermione could possibly think him weak. But it was too late to do anything now. She had caught him unawares. He felt somewhat naked under her gaze and drew his garments tighter about himself. He felt as though he could not speak, like his voice had flown out of him together with his tears. He merely stared back at Hermione, at a loss for words.

She sighed half-exasperatedly and half-understandingly when he did not take her hand then seated herself beside him. "I'm sorry for sneaking up like that but really, I had no other choice."

Harry looked away, his throat was burning madly, and he felt that if he dared utter anything, he'd choke. He didn't know if he felt annoyed at Hermione for interrupting him or if he was thankful for it. They sat in silence for a few seconds, unease settling in his stomach. He stole a glance at Hermione. She was sitting beautifully pensive as she ran her fingers across the words etched on the marble in front of her. Her eyes were smoky and the tendrils of her hair gently caressed her soft skin.

He reached across to touch her cheek before he could stop himself. She looked at him, a mixed expression spread across her face. He knew it was the right thing to do to pull his hand away but she put up her own hand and cupped his, to keep him from doing so wholeheartedly. Her skin was sweetly warm and her lips… her lips were a nice pale shade of pink which looked tempting as the rays of the sun that were seeping through the grey clouds overhead shone on the lip gloss she had put on them. Before he knew it, he was leaning closer to her, not knowing why he was doing so or what he would achieve by doing this. He just wanted to stop feeling the way he did right now and find out exactly how soft those lips were…

"Let's go. _Now,_" she said croakily, pushing his hand away and getting up, once more extending her hand to him.

Harry felt jolted. He tried hard not to look into Hermione's eyes. He let her pull him to his feet, puzzled at what she pressed on him with such urgency. But he was more puzzled, as well as ashamed of his earlier actions. Or was he?

"Where are we supposed to be going?" he asked quietly. He did not feel like refusing her after what he had just pulled moments before but he could not deny his curiosity a chance to be satisfied.

"You'll see," she muttered taking out a battered looking pocket watch. Her tone seemed empty and far off, as if it was not coming from her. If it was bitter, he did not know. He could not decipher any indication of emotion at all coming from her at this moment. How was she doing that? She was never one to hold back on any sentiment or feeling before. She showed it openly and said what was on her mind always. His own mind was reeling and it was a slight shock when she gestured him to take hold of the clock's chain as she maintained grip around its face. Harry knew it must be a portkey. He looked at it, his curiosity mounting within himself.

His head began to throb painfully but he did not have time to dwell on it, in about five seconds, there was a jerk behind his navel urging him forward at vast speeds. So much so that Harry felt his skin might be in danger of being torn off his skeleton. Despite the colors zooming in blurs all around him, proving a dizzying distraction, he positioned his free hand in front of him, expecting himself to fall to the ground when he hit the portkey's destination. But for the first time ever, Harry Potter did not end up sprawled on the ground after a portkey trip, which he found odd but filled him with some sort of shallow pride.

He looked around; he was in a dingy street lined with equally dingy establishments. A few ways away stood a familiar old telephone booth with its cracked panes of glass and the graffiti covered wall behind it. It seemed to have acquired a few more scribbles on it and even managed to get a few on the phone booth itself. Hermione swiftly made her way into the booth and gestured for Harry to come follow.

"Hermione, you're taking me into the Ministry, aren't you? …Why?" Harry asked as he squeezed in to join her. It was a tight fit and Harry felt himself blush as he sidled in next to her but if she was feeling any apprehension, she did not let it show. Her face remained grave and serious as she lifted the receiver of the payphone in front of them. She dialed the numbers "62442" and a cool female voice began to echo from it.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, please state your business," said the voice placidly as though she was in the booth with them.

"I'm Hermione Granger, Jr. Head of the Department of Experimental Magic and Harry Potter is here with me for an appointment," Hermione replied just as calmly.

"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes." There was a clattering sound and a badge appeared in the tiny compartment where the refunded coins usually came out. It bore the words,

**HARRY POTTER**

**APPOINTMENT**

Harry took it and pinned it on his robes obediently.

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium," said the voice automatically as though she knew just when a person had done what it had asked or not.

"If I'm not much mistaken, she said the same stuff to me last time I was here," said Harry, grinning, hoping to be able to lighten up Hermione's mood. No such thing happened. She remained silent.

The telephone box shuddered and began slowly sinking underground. They were plunged into darkness as they passed under the pavement. The only sound they could hear was the dull grinding of the telephone box as it descended deeper under the surface. It seemed like he was in a tiny piece of eternity for it took uncomfortably long before a golden light started to seep in, shining at his feet. Harry was getting impatient and Hermione's mood was not helping in the least. The light steadily grew and soon they were engulfed in the breathtaking brightness of the Atrium.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," Harry heard the female voice call finally as they got out. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

There were about a dozen or more fireplaces spaced the walls of the wide, handsome hall. Once in a while a witch or wizard appeared out of the grates on the left-hand side in a whir or green flames, looking somewhat disheveled and hurried, bringing their work things with them. On the right-hand side, there were long queues of Ministry workers, angling to use the fires to get to their destinations outside of the Ministry.

Harry and Hermione began to make their way down the hall, their footsteps light on the dark polished wood floor. It was uncannily clean and waxed that Harry could've used it as a good substitute for a mirror. As they continued down the hall, he began digging in his pocket for some spare change for he was expecting to see the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the middle of the hall. It was a special fountain that he always thought of as kind of lucky. But he was amazed to see that it was nowhere to be found. In its place was a squat little sign that said simply,_ "New fountain still under construction."_

"What happened---" Harry began but Hermione cut him off and it was in a contrastingly accommodating manner. It took Harry quite by surprise.

"They're replacing it with a new one. I think it'll be done in a few days," she grinned at him. "Oh don't worry though! I think you'll quite like the new one. It's less demeaning than that old one," she added before he could say anything in reply.

They had joined the throng heading to the great golden gates at the end of the hall. All around them Harry could see wizards carrying piles upon piles of paperwork, big ancient tomes, and decrepit attaché cases. Pieces of parchment would sometimes fly out of their grasp and they jostled the crowd to get at them. The chattering in the moving mass was getting increasingly noisy as more wizards joined their gait. Then they left it with minor difficulties for the small desk on the left side of it where a dumpy witch with wispy chestnut hair sat.

"Hello, Ulrida. I'm escorting Harry here. He has an appointment with me," smiled Hermione.

Ulrida looked uninterestedly up at her as though she hadn't heard anything Hermione had just said at all. But apparently those were just her regular appearances for she replied in astonishing earnest to Hermione's explanation, "Oh really? What kind of appointment?"

"He's going to talk to me about a spell idea. I don't know if it's going to work yet but that's why I'm going to talk to him about it," Hermione elucidated as Ulrida stood up and waved what seemed like a golden television aerial in front of Harry.

"That's smashing! What sort of spell?" Ulrida's pasty face crinkled into an ugly grin, teaming with interest.

"Really, Ulrida. I don't think I'm at liberty to say anything right now since I'm not sure," Hermione giggled forcedly. Harry could tell this Ulrida woman annoyed Hermione to no end. "Aren't you going to inspect Harry?"

"Oh right! I bloody well forgot. Wand please," she said to Harry, holding out her fat palm. He took his wand out and handed it to her. She made her way back to the desk and placed it upon a set of scales with one dish. It began to vibrate and a small piece of parchment appeared from an opening at its base. She tore it off and read, "It says eleven inches, phoenix-feather core… in use for eight years. Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's about right," Harry confirmed.

She gave him his wand back and placed the piece of parchment through a small brass spike and wished them a fine day as they entered the golden gates into the smaller hall with about twenty or so lifts with golden grilles.

"Ulrida's sweet but she's a bit too nosy and a tad bit clingy for her own good. Oh crikey, I miss Eric," she smiled uneasily at her less than nice comments.

They entered a lift with a short balding old man carrying an ancient looking wooden box covered in runes, a swotty looking witch with large purple eyes, a blonde witch who was rapturously good-looking, a strong-built man who looked like he was in his mid-forties, three squat and heavily pimpled men who seemed to be triplets and a gangly wizard with horn-rimmed glasses and fiery red hair.

"Hello, Percy," Hermione greeted the red-haired wizard as the lift began to ascend.

"And you Hermione," said Percy huffily. His gaze shifted to Harry. "I see you've brought Harry with you… for an appointment?" his eyes traveled to the words etched on Harry's badge.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office," sounded a placid woman's voice clearly over the babble as the lift doors opened, revealing a very untidy corridor full of lopsidedly tacked Quidditch posters on the walls. The strongly build man made his way out as a couple of pale violet paper airplanes zoomed in.

"Yes, yes. We're going to discuss spell ideas," Hermione said lamely, the airplanes flying idly above her head.

"Really, now? Why not discuss them with your employees at the department? Surely, that's their job?" Percy said nonchalantly, though his eyes looked suspiciously at the both of them.

"Well good ideas are hard to come by and Harry and I did make a couple of spells back in last couple of years at Hogwarts. They are now, of course, properly modified and usable since our department tweaked them. He might have some useful insights and I say, why not hear them out?" explicated Hermione calmly.

"Of course, of course," Percy said lightly. "How could I forget?" he added somewhat grudgingly.

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Center," the same cool voice rang out. The doors opened once more and a few of the paper airplanes zoomed out while some more flew in to take their place.

Percy did not inquire any further though Harry caught him glancing in their direction once in a while. They lapsed into silence. The sound of the flapping paper planes and the breathing of the lift's occupants strangely magnified. It was a tad bit unsettling so Harry turned to Hermione, "So which floor are we headed for?"

"The one at the very top," she sighed as the doors opened at the fifth floor.

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats." At this, Percy shuffled out without a word of goodbye, a couple of memos following his suit as more of them flew in.

"I've only been up to the second level before," Harry realized.

"Well, now you'll finally reach the top, won't you?" Hermione said simply.

"What was wrong with Percy?" Harry cast around for a different topic.

"He's always acting like towards me now. I don't know why. We used to get along before."

Harry was just about to open his mouth to explain to her what Ron had mentioned to him about Percy after his first game with Puddlemere when they stopped for the fourth floor and somebody entered that drove what he was about to say, quickly out of his mind.

"Level Four, Department for Registration and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."

A tall, sharp featured man with white blonde hair swept in. Though his grey eyes were cold and empty, he was still undeniably handsome. His expression was that of mixed smugness and exasperation. The blonde witch blushed deeply as he came to stand beside her.

"Good afternoon, Hermione. You're looking pretty this morning," he grinned, his eyes glinting as he looked over his shoulder at Hermione. Harry suddenly felt a fresh wave of hate course through his veins.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione muttered tonelessly.

Harry couldn't believe it. It was like this day was destined for him to meet all the people he despised. He almost expected Voldemort to come in next. Why was Malfoy being allowed to walk freely around the Ministry after the treason he and his father committed against them? Were they insane? Obviously the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree. Why would they want filth like him working amongst them? How dare he even _talk_ to Hermione?

"Keep your temper in check, Harry," Hermione whispered sharply to him.

"Jolly good, it's Scar Boy!" Draco's grin spread even wider. "All grown up, I see?"

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." The triplets left their number hurriedly as though they smelled the scent of trouble in the air around them.

"Draco works in my department---Office of Experimental Curses and Counter Curses. I offered him a job there in light of his recent financial troubles, am I right?" Hermione said pleasantly to Draco who narrowed his eyes at her but did not say a word.

"That's why he got the job, is it?" murmured Harry a little too loudly causing the blonde witch to shriek in surprise as Malfoy whipped around to face Harry, his face contorted in fury but when he spoke, it was with a tone of unsettling civility, "The only thing keeping you from becoming my test subject for the curse I'm working on are the four other people in this lift. I advise you not to try me because I haven't found its counter as of yet."

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." Whether or not this was the floor that they had meant to get off on or not, the four other people left in haste as soon as the lift doors opened, leaving Harry, Hermione and Draco alone with the last few interdepartmental memos flapping unconcernedly above them.

"Really, you two, there's no need for hostility," Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping in between them.

"He started it," Harry said acidly.

"I frankly don't _care_ who started it. Draco, I thought you had changed," Hermione said in a disappointed voice at Malfoy who looked surprisingly hurt by these words. Then she turned to Harry, "I expected more from you. Come on, this is our stop." Harry bowed his head and let her steer him out of the lift.

"Level One, Department of Experimental Magic, including the Office of the Minister of Magic and his Cabinet Members."

The grilles opened and they into the middle of a bright, vast, and beautiful meadow. Harry felt his jaw drop at its resplendent exquisiteness. The lift disappeared into the ground below them, beams of white light emanating from it as it sunk in slow descent. Harry was in utter awe at his surroundings. He had never seen grass so green or trees with trunks so thick. Their leaves, swayed placidly with the soft breeze and their sturdy branches, calling to be climbed on. There were flowers of every kind, color, and scent scattered about the place, tended by the equally colorful fairies. The air was filled with bird song and yet it seemed to Harry that it sounded more of nature's very opera. The animals were frolicking freely in their midst, unafraid and seemingly unaware of any two-legged mortals that had strayed into their territory.

The only things that seemed out of place were some odd pieces of furniture that seemed to be levitating here and there. Like the three magnificently carved oak doors suspended a few centimeters from the ground in the middle of the field and the many large and fine-looking portraits of what looked like cornerstone moments in the history of the magical world. They hung on their own space in the meadow, commanding yet nonetheless striking. Harry looked up, expecting to see the sunny blue sky and fluffy white clouds but instead was met by a perfect replica of the cosmos. He held out his palms, as golden dust was raining down on them, as if coming from the very stars themselves. And as he clutched a handful of the glittering powder, he knew that this had to be the most beautiful place he had ever seen.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" said Hermione. "These are some of the perks of being on the same floor as the office of the Minister of Magic."

Harry merely nodded; engrossed in watching a star that was exploding some light-years away from them. On his peripheral vision he saw Malfoy and the memos entering the door on the left.

"You know, he isn't all that bad anymore," Hermione said fairly, nodding towards the door Malfoy disappeared into.

"Grew up as well since seventh year, did he?" Harry wrenched his gaze from the star, looking incredulous and doubtful.

"He's really making an effort. Living with that drop in his finances for more than a year was hard on him and when I suggested that he take up the job space here, he's been loads better to be around. At first, of course, his pride got in the way… but now he acts almost human," she began explaining uneasily, speaking in great speeds. But it wasn't fast enough for Harry not to understand what she had just said.

"People like that don't change," he said firmly.

"Oh Harry, don't be like that. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Voldemort got a second chance and look what he did with it."

"That's really unfair, Harry! That was different! Draco is _not_---"

"I thought we had something important to do here?" Harry interrupted, trying hard to keep his temper down.

"We'll finish this later," said Hermione firmly, leading Harry through the door on the left.

Harry had only moments to gaze at the expertly carved runes on the door until Hermione turned its brass doorknob and pulled him through. He did not really know what he expected to see inside. It _was_ the Ministry of Magic, after all. But he was sure he did not expect to see a place so… white.

The walls where an immaculate color of it and the marble floor was not any less pure. The wizards working in this department had long, sweeping white cloaks draped over and almost completely covering their robes. Their hands were covered in white gloves which were composed of material Harry did not recognize. There were chambers with large glass windows, inside them were witches and wizards mixing different ingredients together, examining different substances, and testing out spells. Once in a while a cauldron would explode and different colors of gas would erupt, a spell would backfire, or some talisman would turn a wizard into a gnat or something but Harry never heard a sound.

The white desks of the employees were all stacked high with parchment, old scrolls and a number of dusty volumes. Everyone looked absorbed and busy, and the only things that looked close to idle were the memos flying all over the place. There was hardly any noise or chatter coming from anyone, and when they had to speak, it was in hushed tones.

"It's not always this stiff," Hermione said lightly, taking a pair of white cloaks and some gloves from inside the wardrobe beside the door and handed Harry a set. "It's just that we lost some degree of order when Gathaka left and so everyone's working at double speeds to make up for it."

"Are we staying long here?" Harry asked, thinking he could not take the silence in this department for very long.

"Don't worry; we'll only be a bit. We're just meeting somebody here," she reassured him. She made her way into her office which Harry found comforting since inside, not everything was the blank shade of white. He took a seat in front of her desk as Hermione began looking for something inside the many drawers of her filing cabinets.

"What're you looking for and who are we waiting for?" Harry inquired. Hermione was muttering to herself as she pulled out folder after folder, flipping through the files inside them.

"We're waiting for Benchley Rungwort of the Department of Mysteries and _I_ am just looking for some important files we're going to be needing," she said distractedly, and began taking out more folders, her face contorted in concentration. "He should be here at any---"

"Good day, Hermione. All set?" A strapping, middle-aged man entered Hermione's office looking pressed. He was one of those few people that seemed to look better with age. His hair was a dark gray color mixed with some black. His eyes were bright blue like the cool waters of the purest springs. The robes under his white cloak were as black as night and of immense quality. There was an air of urgency about him, like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

"In a moment, I think I've almost got it---ah… yes… here it is," Hermione smiled, brandishing a decrepit looking brown envelope. Whatever was inside it, there was plenty of it. The envelope was practically bulging. "All, right, let's go."

Harry was about to ask Hermione where exactly they were going but his companions had already slipped out. They were quiet about it, as though trying not to be seen. They took the route passing through the more deserted parts of the department, avoiding eye contact with anyone. But everyone was so engrossed with their work as it were, they didn't really need to. They returned their cloaks and gloves and made their way through the enchanted meadow and back into the lift.

They waited in silence as the lift descended. Never had Harry endured a longer stay in an elevator. The thoughts in his head were enough to drive him insane. As time trickled by he began to realize where Hermione was taking him. He didn't know how angry he was at her or if he was angry at her at all. He had half a mind to run and escape but his feet would not budge. He would not let it. Part of him wanted to see this through. He did not expect to get a flash of brilliance and find a way to bring his godfather back. Or did he? He felt his curiosity burn within him and he could not assuage it.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry heard the cool voice echo more distantly than he had ever heard it before, "The Department of Mysteries." The words he both dreaded and anticipated at the same time. He stepped out slowly, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The corridor he set foot in was forbidding and an eerie breeze caused by the rush of air from the lift made the torch lights to flicker ominously. Harry fancied that he saw Hermione give him a worried glance as they made their way to the plain black door at the end of the passageway but he did not dwell on the thought for his attention was on the door looming in the distance. So many times he had seen it in his dreams and his curiosity of what lay beyond it had betrayed him excellently long, long ago. He shuddered but dared not voice out that all he wanted to do was turn back. What had happened four years ago all seemed to be a spate of painful recollections now but still its wounds were not healed.

Nearer and nearer they went until finally they were before the door's quiet majesty. Harry clutched his heart. He suddenly felt as if it were hemorrhaging inside his chest. His voice seemed to be quailing in his throat. He knew he would not be able to murmur any complaints.

The door swung open automatically and they entered into a circular room bathed in black with the identical blank and handle-less doors spaced at equal intervals on its dark walls and interspersed with branches of candles with flickering ice-blue flames. Their wavering light shone on the marble flooring making it seem as though they were walking on the water of some dark lake.

"Don't shut the door," Rungwort said sternly though he did not need to. Harry and Hermione knew all too well what had happened the last time they did that.

Rungwort started to mutter some incantation under his breath in a language Harry did not think was known or used in this era. It seemed other worldly and long-forgotten. The words made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his spine tingle. When the last word was uttered, what small amount of illumination in the room extinguished in a wink. Harry heard a creaking from somewhere to his right. Then suddenly two small candles lit up again, burning purest white on either side of one of the doors.

"I can give you an hour, no more and no less. I'll keep watch out here," said Rungwort shortly. Then as Hermione took Harry's hand reassuringly and pulled him towards the door Rungwort reminded them once more, "Remember, an hour."

Hermione nodded and they proceeded. Harry felt his palms become sweaty in his best friend's hand and he could almost feel himself turning pale and cold. He even thought Hermione would pull her hand out of his. Maybe then, he thought, he could try and bolt. But she tightened her grip on him which strangely alleviated him somewhat of the apprehension brewing within himself.

They stepped out into the topmost row of a dimly lit, rectangular room of vast proportions and a sunken center, forming quite a large stone trench about twenty feet below them. It was sort of like an amphitheater with its descending steps, leading toward a raised stone dais in the middle of the lowered floor. And upon this dais was ancient stone archway defying the laws of time by continuing to stand resolutely despite it being unsupported by any surrounding wall. A single tattered black veil hung on the arch fluttering lightly despite the lack of any apparent breeze.

Harry looked away though he could feel the arch's inexplicable power drawing him towards it. He could feel tears filling under his lower eyelids. He could almost hear the voices coming from behind its veil, taunting him, laughing and whispering. But then… Sirius… Sirius had to be among them now…

Harry looked up, his face etched in dire determination. It was like a sleeping flame that had long slept within himself had been rekindled anew, its strength greater than before. Too long had he been idle. Too long had he pushed his impulses into the sidelines. Too long had he put up with the knowledge that he did not even try. Too long had he woken up, drenched in sweat, echoes of voices long unheard, swimming in his thoughts. This was the chance he had been waiting for. It had been four long years since… and he could change it… he could have another chance. He had to. He had to oblige opportunity especially when it knocked so invitingly on his door.

Then suddenly Harry heard an isolated echo float to his ears… he knew that voice… distant yet deeply familiar. He could not decipher the words spoken or the emotion---yet it drove him. Hearing it was like a drop of ice cold water on a parched tongue. It only teased him so. His godfather was not dead; he had known it all along. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He did not know what would happen yet he knew he had to go through that veil. He could not just stand indolently by when he could finally bring Sirius back.

"Harry---_NO_!" Hermione screamed frantically. It was like a knife cutting through the webs of the most enthralling dream. Harry was about to run but Hermione had caught his arm. She was shaking and tears were running down her cheeks. Harry burst. He tugged wildly at his arm, shedding his own tears. He felt heat steaming out of his pores, and his face turning a violent scarlet. She was holding him back. Why? Why? _Why?_ Did she not know he had to do _something_?

"But Sirius is in there, Hermione! CAN'T YOU HEAR HIM?" Harry yelled, tears flowing more freely than they had ever yet done in his life. Hermione was now gripping him around his middle with both her arms, sobbing on his shoulder. He unwittingly let his efforts to escape weaken in spite of himself as he felt her warm tears seep through his robes.

"Harry don't… _please_ don't," Hermione whispered pleadingly, her voice faintly muffled because she was pressing her face into Harry's robes.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S BEEN LIKE WITHOUT MY PARENTS AND HIM? I HAVE TO TRY!"

He continued to struggle, trying to undo Hermione's grasp, surprised how strong it was even when she was crying. She drew him closer to her and whispered into his ear, "I---Your friends can't lose you, Harry… know _that_."

Those words were like ice, flowing through his veins, freezing him in his tracks. It was like he was so busy coping with all the adrenaline... he had forgotten he had friends. An internal struggle was going on within himself. Family... he was doing this for family... but weren't his friends his family as well? He had nothing to lose... or did he?  
Suddenly he could hear Hermione's pleading, sobbing voice louder and it pierced his heart. With tremendous effort, Harry wrenched his gaze from the veil, still goading him in the distance. He could not defy her. He could not bring himself to leave her.

"Why? Why are you holding me back?" He looked straight into her brown eyes, still brimming with tears. He felt guilty, knowing that it was he who caused those tears to form beneath her eyelids. How many times had he made her cry in the past? The thought pained him. He would give anything to make her happy.

Yet at the same time he felt irritated and despaired at his helplessness. His chance was slipping right past him and he could not bring himself to snatch it. He could not understand this sudden sway she had over him.

"Because you don't understand," Hermione croaked. Harry gazed at her, a bit startled that she had spoken. She had taken out a simple white handkerchief and was dabbing her eyes with it. Then she crouched and retrieved that brown envelope she must've dropped when she was trying to prevent Harry from entering the veil.

"Don't understand? What do I possibly need to understand other than Sirius is in there and I need to get him back?" exclaimed Harry. But already these words seemed to fall dead on his lips. It was like he didn't even believe the words coming out of his own mouth anymore. A new bout of hopelessness was taking hold of him and he did not like it. Had it always been there?

Hermione took out the contents of the envelope. Some were yellowing clippings from what seemed like Daily Prophet, which were falling apart at the sides, the others seemed like journal entries in neat cursive, the others photographs of symbols and runes, and some immensely detailed documentations of experiments. "These are just a few of the recorded studies done on the Veil of Ninthaeil-Barrh---"

"The Veil of _what_?" Harry turned to Hermione.

"Ninthaeil-Barrh. I think it means… 'Passing Shadows' in the Forgotten Language… yes, yes… there it is," Hermione pointed at the text of the more recent recordings. "I think you should read this one," she said, handing him the neatly bound account.

**A File Summary on the Ancient Race**

_**Written on:**__ January 7, 1995_

_**By:**__ Varell Lanquaise_

_**Of:**__ The Department of Mysteries, Division on Ancient Civilizations_

Little is known about the Ancient Race (sometimes referred to as the Forgottens, the Ancients, the Fair Ones, or the Fair Folk). How they came and why they came at all into our world are still complete enigmas. Their culture, language, and beliefs, among many others, are still clouded in mystery. But scholars have not amounted to ultimately nothing. Though the wizarding public remains uninformed about the possible existence of this civilization due to the explicit requests of the Ministry of Magic, it is almost undeniable that the said scholars and experts might have uncovered Wizardkind's true and direct ancestry which is why they are pressed into such levels of secrecy. Such history would change all views on our origins in the extremes.

A proud people, the Fair Folk were much advanced for their surrounding times. When humans were just starting to lay the cornerstones of their civilization, the Ancients had bustling towns and kingdoms alight in perfection and peace. Magic ran strong through their veins and they did not need wands to focus their power (wizards can only do this under tremendous emotional strain). Their will was strong enough to control their almost unfathomable capabilities.

Many legends suggest that they lived on a land far out into the great seas, possibly in _Nurannon _or Atlantis, as we call it now in the common tongue. Only when mankind seemed advanced enough did they leave their borders and blended into our territories. They interbred with humans and produced the magical peoples. Some experts say it is due to their magic that the magical creatures we know today branched out from the regular fowls and such of our world.

Connoisseurs speculate that the usually undermined house-elves are one of the most crucial proofs of their existence. They are said to be the original servants of the Forgottens in their beautiful land across the seas, carrying what seems like a small glimpse of the brand of magic the Fair Ones are cogitated to have wielded. Also, the older house-elves (usually those distraught at their dismissals) are once in a while heard to say that they/their kind "have served fairer races". There are only a few known tales of this fairer race and they are scattered, distorted and help little.

If there is something more puzzling than the Ancients' arrival… it is their departure. Some say after a few decades, they left our world and sailed back to Atlantis where they soon perished when their land was swallowed by the ocean caused by the gods who were angry at their "arrogance" and threatened by their power. Though many think it more likely that when they left, they passed into another plane because they knew that their time on earth was over and their duty complete. And just as their populace moved on, their land disappeared into the seas to cover up the tracks they wanted to keep hidden.

Though that does not mean they destroyed everything. Just as they passed on part of their magic into mankind and to our flora and fauna, they left the house-elves with us along with a few relics.

Among the most curious and most cunningly deadly, is The Veil of _Ninthaeil-Barrh_ or as the scholars translate as 'The Veil of Passing Shadows'. Nobody is sure of its purpose. Others say it is a passageway into the Lost Plane that the Ancient Race is said to have left for. Still others say it is a doorway into the realm of the dead. And some say it leads to a different dimension or some sort of black hole.

But one thing is certain: nothing that enters the veil ever returns---alive _or _dead.

Harry stared in disbelief and read the last line a couple of times more just to make sure he had read right. What did it mean nothing ever came out? If there was a way in there had to be a way out? If there was anything he had come to realize in his years was that everything had a counter. This could not be an exception. He skimmed over to see the author and the date---four years ago… surely there must've been new developments on the case since then? What did this Varell Lanquaise know anyway? She sounded like some ignorant newbie. She didn't know Sirius… she didn't know _Harry_. They've gotten through worse. There had to be a way.

"What's this supposed to mean?" said Harry sharply to Hermione.

Probably taken aback by his sudden onset of speech, Hermione jumped slightly before stammering her reply, "H-Harry… it's not really very difficult to understand… it's all there, isn't it?"

"No! What does she mean by 'nothing that enters the veil ever returns'? If they know so little about it---who's to say nothing can ever come back out?" Harry stressed, his temper burbling within him once more.

"Oh, Harry! I never thought you'd make this so difficult!" Hermione looked uneasily at him, her eyes misty and worried. She began fumbling once more; flipping through more files and taking out a few stained, degenerated clippings from what looked like the _Daily Prophet _and other news sources, stapled in pairs. "The ones in front are the articles that were supposed to run in the paper and the ones stapled to them are what happened after the Ministry had them edited."

Harry went over the less than encouraging headers. All sorts of people were reported missing; all last seen in the Department of Mysteries. Most of them seemed to be deeply involved in the study but others looked as though they were just curious nitwits who let the calling of the veil take them over. Sometimes they left things behind like pieces of rope or cloth, probably hoping they could use it as an anchor to our world. But they always failed. Their knots and spells would become mysteriously undone and they were lost in the veil's abyss. The dates ranged from a couple of years back to centuries long past. Harry read the edited versions and saw that the Ministry had gone to great extent to explain away all these disappearances. Mostly they attributed it to the wizard's own folly which Harry found made him even angrier. It was so extremely like the Ministry to insult someone's memory with lies.

He slowly handed them back to Hermione, feeling numb with the weight of all this information. If he could hardly speak before then, he knew there was nothing left in him now to make him utter anything at all. He looked again at the Veil. He did not know anymore which desire was stronger: to destroy it or to enter it. Somehow he knew he could do neither.

Suddenly he felt arms enclose his stressed form. He had never been held like this before. Again his attention was shifted to her as he encircled her with his own arms, resting his forehead on her shoulder. He comforted his grief in her touch and the warmth she was passing into his body which had gone cold with cruel acceptance. He did not know what he would've done without her. Lost forever to this world, maybe. Yet that thought did not seem to daunt him as much as it did so many others.

"You are a hero, Harry---a champion of peoples. But you are not the only one. There are many in this world. Many have come, gone and will come. You are not meant to save everyone. Luna's and Dumbledore's deaths were never your fault---it was simply their time. And neither is it your sole responsibility to save Sirius," Hermione said in a tone that Harry had never heard her use before. She sounded so much older, almost like an echo of something Dumbledore would say and it eased his pain somehow.

"Then why did you bring me here if you won't let me do anything?" Harry asked simply, feeling spent emotionally.

Hermione's lips curved into a sad smile at this question and said, "For closure, Harry. That little outburst of yours at dinner made it clear to me how much you have left unresolved. I know complete acceptance is not possible of you now. I don't know if it ever will be. Hopefully though, this will put you on the right track. Just think that Sirius will have to wait a little longer in there."

She hugged him tighter and Harry felt his tears flowing from him once again, his breath short, and pain so concentrated was stabbing his very soul. She let him weep and she did her best to quell his sorrow. Selfishly he hoped that some might be passed into Hermione so that he may be alleviated. Though almost immediately, he took it back. But she was crying her own silent tears for in some way; Harry's pain was hers. And in that, they became one.

In that moment, he knew. He knew that Hermione had always meant a little more to him that he had ever dreamed possible.


	9. Lost and Found

Chapter IX – Lost and Found

"I think we have to go, it's been almost an hour," Hermione said quietly and a little hesitantly, breaking their embrace slowly.

Though Harry felt heavy and overloaded, he did not feel like moving. But he grudgingly followed Hermione's suit as she got up and made her way back to Benchley. The way back seemed a great deal easier and yet strangely surreal. Each step he took seemed to be like he was slowly emerging on top of sea level of a fathoms-deep ocean. He could still hear the voices from the veil but the persuasion in their words seemed to be losing its touch. To be sure, there was a part of him still that wanted to try his luck and jump into the depths of the unknown but that part of him seemed to be receding, at least for the time being.

And has he came face to face with the exit of the chamber, he threw one more backward glance at the veil. It was still so otherworldly, so mysteriously beautiful, fluttering in emptiness, calling to him. He didn't understand it quite as well anymore but he felt it inside him, promising Sirius… Dumbledore… Luna… his parents… but with a resolute sigh, Harry looked away, turned the knob and walked through the door.

"What took you so long? I was getting worried," said Hermione urgently, looking terribly shaken.

"I walked slowly," Harry lied, feeling as if he had talked enough for that day.

"I thought I had to let you walk back on your own but when you took so long, I thought that you had gone back and…" Hermione sputtered, her sweat shining in the dark blue light coming from the candles.

"It's all right. I'm here, aren't I?" said Harry blankly, not knowing whether that statement showed that Hermione had faith in him or not.

"You can both talk about this later, we must leave now," Benchley exclaimed, interrupting whatever it was Hermione was about to say. In another spate of confliction, Harry both felt irritated and relieved at this action. But they both nodded and followed Benchley back through the department.

Harry remembered very little of their trip back. Every sight that would have caught his eye on any other occasion seemed as riveting as dirt on the side of the street, for every color only seemed as vibrant as the next grey hue. Every sound was muffled in the torrents of screaming thoughts jostling in his weary mind and the pounding of his heart which seemed to have magnified by about a hundred times. Every step he took was laborious for his limbs though he tried valiantly not to show any further signs of weakness.

Now that they were a long way from the Department of Mysteries, the only thing on Harry wanted to do was go home. He did not know what he would do when he got there but he found he could no longer stay in any part of the Department of Magic for very much longer. His surroundings were suffocating him and he only longed to breathe.

"You look like you need a cup of coffee," Hermione eyed him worriedly as both of them finally stepped into the crowded main hall of the Department of Magic.

"No. I'd rather go back home, if that's ok?" Harry replied brusquely. All his eyes could make sense of right now was what was in front of them---his periphery was completely shot. Not to mention he felt like all his internal organs had just fallen out of his ass. The last thing he wanted to do was go to some coffee shop and discuss what had just happened a few moments back. He could not believe Hermione even had the gall to suggest such a thing.

"Please have some coffee. We don't have to stay in the shop to drink it. We could go for a walk or something," Hermione pressed, jogging to keep up with the angry, brisk pace Harry had suddenly taken.

"Don't you think we've done enough talking?" Harry seethed, his eyes darting around in search of a fireplace with the least people in line for Floo Powder travel.

"Right. O-of course. Silly me. I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, surprised and abashed by the acidity of her friend's words. She slowed her gait until she had completely stopped in the middle of her tracks.

Harry could feel her sad gaze on him as he walked further and further away from her. And as he finally came to a halt behind a burly wizard with ash-gray hair, he threw a small glance backward. She was still standing there. He could just about see the dejected expression in her face. Harry sighed, feeling a fresh wave of guilt wash over him.

Hermione had sacrificed a lot of her time, put in a good amount of effort and risked quite a lot, just to bring him to face the veil. She had given him the answers he had been craving for so long and had given him her counsel when the truth became too hard for him to handle. By all accounts, she was only trying to help.

Harry dragged a cold palm over his face and hissed under his breath in frustration. He then wheeled around and began walking back to his friend. "No coffee. I might throw it up. But a walk… is fine," he said curtly when he reached her, not daring to look her in the eye. Without another word in reply, Hermione took his hand in hers and began leading the way. A peaceful warmth stemming from her touch spread over him, letting him know he had made the right choice.

"You think I don't understand what you're going through, Harry… but I do," said Hermione softly, breaking the silence that had ensued between her and her friend. She had her hands in the pockets of her robes, kicking the gravel road with her boots as they hiked up the hill that they had apparated to an hour ago.

Harry inwardly cursed himself for his earlier show of tactlessness, grabbed Hermione by the arm and said seriously, "Look… I was angry… I didn't mean what I said back there."

"No. You did actually. You know you did," Hermione laughed emptily, prying her arm out of Harry's grasp.

Harry felt his stomach clench painfully in remorse. He opened his mouth to say something to her but found he found he had no words. She was right. He _didn't_ think she understood. He didn't want to lie to her---she would see through them. So he uneasily let the two of them slip back into the uncomfortable silence that they had started their walk with.

He thought maybe this was his cue to leave. What more could be said here? At home, he had a whole bottle of sleeping potion waiting for him on his bedside table. He was overloaded with so many thoughts and emotions that dreamless sleep was practically screaming out his name to the high heavens. At that thought, Harry felt the prickling of annoyance under his skin. He didn't even want to go on this walk in the first place and he was going to be treated like this? He really didn't need anymore baggage.

Refusing to take another step, Harry snapped, "Whatever. I don't need this."

Harry was seconds away from apparating back to his home when Hermione turned to him and said, "I had a sister."

Harry put down his wand and stared at her dumbfounded. Was this some sort of joke? He searched his friend's eyes for any sign that might confirm this thought but found none. Her brown eyes bore into his with all the seriousness of an unfortunate truth.

This was all too much. Hermione had a sister? He didn't know exactly what to feel. Was he supposed to be curious as to why she had kept it a secret? Was he supposed to be hurt that she didn't trust him enough to introduce him to her own sister? Was he supposed to be furious that she was springing this one him at such a horrible time?

"I can tell from that look on your face that you weren't listening properly. I said I _had_ a sister. I don't have one anymore," Hermione rolled her eyes at him then continued bitterly, "Her name was Persephone. She died of leukemia when I was ten. She was only fifteen."

When Harry's brain was finally able to register these last few words, at first he was completely thunderstruck. This was soon replaced by shame. This whole day it seemed that he did nothing but be a jerk to Hermione. Harry looked down at the ground wishing it would swallow him up right at that very moment. It took every ounce of willpower he had to stammer the words, "I---I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago," Hermione breathed with a wave of a nonchalant hand.

"Where are we anyway?" Harry said in digression, not knowing how to ask Hermione more about this sister she claimed to once have had.

At this, she pointed at the lone oak at the very top of the hill and said, "We're going to my sister's grave---or tree, whichever is more correct. So come on."

Harry traipsed after her as she continued on the uphill trail, feeling a mix of curiosity and dread at the new slew of information he knew he was going to receive. When they finally stood underneath the tree's majestic shade, he felt quite overwhelmed by the beauty that was laid before him. It was like a dream. Sunset had splashed orange and pink in the graying horizon. Gentle winds were lightly caressing them and everything else in their surroundings, making it seem like everything was more alive somehow. And at the height they had reached muted all the cacophony that usually emanated from the bustling towns and cities. The one below this hill winked up at them, looking like a peaceful fairy kingdom.

"This is beautiful," Harry remarked in awe.

"Yes, my sister thought so too. This was her quiet spot whenever things became too hard for her," said Hermione as she sat down on the grass and laid her back against the oak's trunk. She beckoned Harry to do the same and he gratefully obliged, realizing how tired he actually had gotten.

"I'm sorry I've kept it from you for so long. You know me… I've never really been the type to talk about my problems. I always think that they're for me to deal with. Nobody else needs to get involved, you know?" Hermione apologized though her eyes rested pointedly on Harry during her last remark. "…But I guess I was wrong. Sometimes other people need to hear these things to let them know they're not alone. So here we are," Hermione shrugged bracingly, as if to tell him she was ready for any questions he had now.

"What was she like?"

"Oh, she was wonderful, Harry. She was tall and willowy like my grandmother and she had my father's ice blue eyes. She also liked to keep her hair short because she thought it was always getting in her way when she would climb trees and all that. She was always such a free spirit. Sometimes I seriously think she must've been a pixie in a past life or something," Hermione laughed, shaking her head.

"Wow. Your sister: the wild child. I didn't see _that_ coming," Harry chuckled, thinking back to how extremely uptight Hermione was about rules and regulations. Always logical and practical, she was never one to put a toe out of line unless it was a dire situation. It was one of the things Harry both loved and hated about her. To think that her older sister was some hippie flower child was nothing short of ironic.

"I know, right?" Hermione grinned sheepishly, acknowledging just how stark the difference between she and her sibling must seem. "But I guess… it's part of why I turned out the way I did," she murmured, plucking a leaf from one of the low-lying branches. She twirled it in her hand for a moment before letting it get caught in the wind.

Harry cocked his head slightly to the side, wondering what Hermione meant by that statement. Did he get the wrong impression that Hermione got along with her sister?

"I did---and still do---love her dearly. But Persephone was a force. You couldn't help but be drawn to her, you couldn't help loving her. She was irascible at times but irresistible. And well, I always had to work harder to get that sort of attention. My sister was smart but she didn't care much for school. So that's where I carved my little niche---inside the library and inside the classroom. But even then I'd always wonder if that was good enough---if people could see _me_ and not Persephone's nerdy little sister."

Harry stared at Hermione as if he was seeing her for the very first time. She was always so confident and on top of everything. _He_ was supposed to be the insecure wreck of the trio, always wondering if he had it in him to meet everyone's grand and heroic expectations of The Boy Who Lived. To an outsider Hermione would seem like the perfect one---the pillar of strength that always kept things together. Who could've known that underneath all that she had doubted herself so much? Of course, Harry knew she had her insecurities just like everybody else but he didn't think they ran so deep. She was smart, compassionate, just and beautiful... How could she ever think that she wasn't good enough? How could she think anyone wouldn't see her?

"I see you," Harry said seriously, turning to meet her eyes.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, smiled disbelievingly and asked, "Do you?"

Harry tried to stammer a reply but after a few failed attempts, Hermione raised both her hands to silence him and said, "Forget it. I think I gave you the wrong impression anyway. My insecurities are my own. It wasn't my sister's fault that she was who she was. And really, I quite like who I've become. Besides… Persephone would need someone to ground her too, you know? Our parents weren't around enough to do that when we were growing up. I don't blame them for it. They married really young and were struggling to make ends meet. They had to be at work almost all the time so most of my nights were spent at my grandparents' house with Persephone. And well… my grandparents were… old---really old. They didn't have all their wits about them," Hermione concluded with a tap on her noggin.

"So you were the parent, is that what you mean?" Harry asked. He didn't have a hard time believing this at all though. Hermione had the incredible motherly talent of nagging down pat. He could just imagining her telling her sister off for making prank phone calls, shouting at her to take her bath and calling her to come down before dinner got cold. But aside from that Harry knew Hermione just cared a lot---possibly a lot more than most people. This whole excursion proved that perfectly. He had no trouble at all believing that Hermione would someday make a great mother… make a great wife…

"Well, not really. Sometimes, I suppose I was," Hermione replied, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. He blinked at her several times then gave his head a shake causing her to ask him, "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Sorry, sorry. It's the exhaustion," he apologized, wondering if he had just lied to her.

"Oh… well maybe we should go home after all then?" Hermione said in concern.

"No, no… please continue. I want to hear this," he reassured her.

"Well… okay but only if you're sure," she gave him another anxious glance.

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry."

"So as I was saying… I wasn't the parent _all_ the time. She took care of me quite a lot actually. She'd help me do my homework or watch old movies on the tellie with me with a bucket of ice cream between the both of us. She'd also read to me every night from all sorts of books. Sometimes she'd even make some up," Hermione narrated, her eyes glistening with sweet reminiscence. She then paused, crinkled her nose and added, "But then other times, she'd try to sneak me out of class to go to the carnival. There was also this other time when she tried to get me to help her put frogs inside this one nasty teacher's work desk. And she would always say that one day she was going to runaway with the circus. Those are the times I'd put my foot down and say no. You could say she was both Wendy and Peter Pan for me."

"She sounds like quite a handful. What rows you must've had!" Harry grinned, the memories of all the quarrels he and his other friends had with Hermione over the years flashing through his mind.

"Yeah, we did have quite a number of them," Hermione laughed in agreement. "But we could never stay mad at each other for more than a couple of hours. And yes, she was difficult during many occasions but… other times she was a godsend. My best memories with her were from when we'd go dancing in the rain. I was terrible at it but Persephone was something else; she looked like a nymph or a goddess. All her optimism and all her idealism flowed from her every movement. She'd make you feel like the whole world was just as it should be---or if it wasn't yet... you were filled with the hope that it would be soon. " At this, Hermione turned her head sadly towards the town, blinking up at them from a distance. Night had already laid her cloak on all of them. The only light to be had came from inside those warm homes below and from the irrepressible heavens above.

Awkward silence stood between them yet again. Harry was at a loss on how to pursue the subject so began to retreat into his own thoughts. _Death has to be one of the most awful things in this world_, he said to himself. He knew and understood that it was perfectly necessary and yet… it trailed such sorrow in its wake. The pain it placed on those that were left behind were what caused the real deaths. Every time that mortality claimed another from Harry's life, he felt like a part of him had passed away as well.

Warmth spread over his face and his throat began to prickle as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. And just when he thought he could not hold them back any longer, Hermione's voice rippled in the air once more. "The one constant thing in life is change, they say. My god, Harry… I never resented that more than when it began to take her away from me," she whispered.

Resentment---now that's something Harry knew very well. He resented very much that it was him that always had to live. He resented that the precious lives of others had to be sacrificed for his continuity. He resented that good people---people who didn't deserve such misfortune---had to suffer so much. Why did all the good things he had in life have to change for the worst?

"You know that I know exactly how that is," he told her sourly.

"Yes, change is a load of bollocks a lot of the time, isn't it?" Hermione laughed lightly. "It either works too fast that it totally blindsides you or it works too slow that you never notice until it's too late."

"Getting Blindsided: The Story of My Life," Harry rolled his eyes. "So which was it for your sister?"

"The slow kind. At first she was just getting weaker and paler. It was a bit easy for us to dismiss that. I mean, what was being a little off-color and being out-of-breath now and again, right? Then later on she started losing her appetite and coming down with all these fevers. We all thought it was just the flu and all the stress. It was ballet competition season for her and she had homework on top of that. We only realized it was something so much more than when she started to get all these bone and joint pains and the medicines weren't doing anything for her.

"So we finally decided to take her to the hospital. I can't tell you how much agony it was, waiting for the tests to come in. We just waited, swallowed up in our fear and our silence---not daring to even think of anything we wouldn't want to happen. And then the doctor came back and he had this somber look about him. Right then we knew that something really horrible was about to occur but still no one ever said anything. The doctor told us that she had Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. He said also told us that the cancer was progressing unusually fast and she had a slim chance of recovery.

"I had _never_ been so angry at someone in my life. I mean, how dare he say such evil things about my sister? Who was _he_ to say she had a slim chance of recovery? He didn't know her! He didn't know how strong she was!" Hermione shouted angrily up the sky, pounding at the ground beneath them. Harry stared at her, slightly taken aback by this loss of control. It was quite against Hermione's usual collected and logical nature.

"I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away, didn't I?" she apologized, after realizing what she was doing.

"Just a bit," Harry smiled, slightly entertained. "It's fine. It reminds me that you're only human like the rest of us."

"I resent that! I'm just… an overachiever. That's all," exclaimed Hermione indignantly.

"Of course you are," nodded Harry, his smile widening.

"Excuse me! I'll have you know that I was in such a rage that I think I did my first bit of magic that night. I remember I made all the lights in that floor flicker and the ones closest to that doctor explode. They said it was 'due to an unfortunate power surge' but I knew it was me."

Despite his best efforts, Harry let out a laugh which garnered him a punch on the arm. "Hey! Don't you punch me! I was going to say that just proves you're a kick-ass witch. I think the first bit of magic I ever did was turn someone's hair blue."

"Right. Well, a lot of good that did me then."

"What do you mean?"

"It was in and out of the hospital that whole year for everyone after the diagnosis was made. But when she stopped responding to treatment they recommended that we opt for home. They told us she had a few months at the most. After that, I thought maybe _I_ might be able to save her, if only I could concentrate hard enough. So everyday after school I'd come into her room, take her hand and prayed for that power that I used on the light bulbs to heal her. But every day that she didn't get better killed part of me. We were teammates---we always had each other's backs but now I was losing her and I couldn't do anything. It was like watching a star slowly go out in the sky.

"But I kept trying anyway because I couldn't stand doing nothing. The prospect of giving up on her was inconceivable, you know what I mean right? …But then one day I got a call in the middle of class. It was my mother. She was crying so hysterically that I almost didn't understand what she was saying. But when I did understand, I wished I hadn't. She told me that Persephone had passed away.

"All these emotions started going through me. Shock, disbelief, anger, pain… but at the end of it all, all I could think of was how I couldn't help her and how I wasn't there… how I wasn't even able to say goodbye," Hermione choked at these last few words. Harry moved to comfort her but she held out her hand to stop him, blinking up at the sky.

"Don't Harry. If you do this now, I won't be able to stop and I want to finish this," she warned him. Harry uneasily did as he was told. Hermione deeply breathed in and out, fanning her eyes with her hands.

"If it's any consolation, it's really not that great to be there when it actually happens either," Harry muttered bitterly, thinking about how he always seemed to have to incredible misfortune to be there whenever someone kicked it.

"Oh Harry, I didn't mean---"

"It's fine. Death is a nightmare either way."

"A nightmare… yeah… that's exactly how it was for me as well. I couldn't believe what was happening. I mean, you don't think any of these things will actually happen to you. They happen to other people but not _you_. I wanted to scream to, to cry, or to smash something but I couldn't. I felt like it would become real if I did any of that. And it couldn't be real… it just couldn't. I had to wake up.

"I was wreck for about a year after that. I felt like I had let her down. I felt like it wasn't fair that she got the cancer and I didn't. I'd forget to take meals and I'd cry myself to sleep every night. To distract myself from all the pain I'd just lock myself inside my room and pour myself over my work. My parents started to get worried. They sent me to a therapist and everything. They would make such a fuss over me. It was like they were trying to make up for not being there for Persephone. But nothing really helped until I got into Hogwarts and met you… and Ron.

"That day that I was crying in the girl's bathroom… it wasn't so much about how you insulted me. I was crying because I realized that I had become someone that my sister would've never wanted me to be. I was a prisoner of my own work, cutting myself from all the pleasures of this world. I didn't have any friends and nobody liked me. All I had were my books, my grades and my homework. There was no joy, no love, and no passion in my life. And those were the things she was always trying to impart to me.

"She was always the one who told me to lighten up. Like the first time she climbed this tree. I remember I was shouting at her from below to get down. I told her it was too dangerous and that she was going to hurt herself. She looked down at me, her eyes dancing and said, 'Come on, little sister---live a little!' Then she offered me her hand to pull me up there with her. I had taken it then and I knew I had to take it again now.

"So I _have_ felt everything you have felt and I _have_ asked all the questions you have asked. But Harry… it's all useless. Don't you see? We've got to stop feeling guilty and undeserving of the time we've received. The life we're allowed to have is meant to be lived and those who have gone before us would have wanted that. If anything, it's more important than ever that we do live our lives to the fullest… or else theirs would've been in vain. It's ironic but it's the dead who truly teach us how to live.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say is that you cannot waste your life fighting death. If you permit me to say so, wasn't that Voldemort's biggest mistake? I mean, it's a futile battle, really. We're all meant to pass away. Death isn't evil Harry---but people can be. Death is simply there to remind us to live and ultimately, life means more because death trails in its wake."

A bittersweet silence followed Hermione's last statement. He knew that everything she said was right was right. There was a part of him that said the same thing. He knew the time had come to listen to it. He knew the time had come to suck all the poison out of his life.

Harry looked at her glistening brown eyes, at a loss for words. He wanted to wipe all the pain away from her like he was now wiping a stray tear from her cheek. He recognized that her heart, her pain and the words with which she expressed them… were his as well. He was both relieved that he wasn't as alone in this as he thought and horrified that such pain resided in the heart of someone he cared about so deeply. He couldn't bear the thought of her in such agony. He wondered if it she felt the same way. If she did… he never felt sorrier. All he wanted was for her to be happy.

Overcome by thought and emotion, he then did the only thing that made sense at that very moment and took her in his arms. She let out a small breath of surprise but it quickly became a sigh of relief. And as she sobbed onto his chest and let herself melt into his embrace, again Harry felt that profound oneness that had enveloped both of them in the Department of Mysteries. He had never thought he and Hermione could ever feel so connected.

All those times that Hermione came to him with advice and comfort, trying to help him cope with all the deaths that seemed to happen around him… he had silently hated her for it. He felt that she didn't even know what she was talking about. He felt it arrogant of her to even try. And sometimes he would lash out at her for it. She merely took it, absorbed it, let it slip past without as much as a word in protest. But she had known all along. She had known all along… perhaps the best of all…

Harry felt his insides twist with guilt. There was so much that he didn't know about her. It was true that she never let on much about certain things but what troubled him was that he had never thought to ask before now.

"I'm sorry," Harry said somberly, his eyes downcast.

"I told you that you don't have to feel sorry," she replied.

"No, not for your loss this time. I'm sorry that I never… that I never tried to get to know you better," said Harry awkwardly, feeling as if a lump had lodged itself in the middle of his throat.

"It was for me to tell," Hermione maintained.

"And I'm glad you did, but that doesn't mean I can't care enough to ask," said Harry, putting his hands on her shoulders and drawing slightly away from their embrace so that they could face each other. They were so close. He felt her warm breath mixing with his own. Tremors were flying up and down his skin. He seemed almost outside of himself. He didn't know why or how he was doing all this but he didn't want it to stop. He stretched his hand out to touch her cheek. He gently brought her face to level his. He could feel himself inching closer to her. He knew what was going to happen and it felt so right that it was.

Then … hesitation. He didn't know where it came from. Was it his body? Was it his mind? Was it his heart? Harry's eyes darted swiftly to the sky to see the silhouette of an owl cutting through night.

_Oh God---the letter._ Harry thought, remembering Liz and the moment they had only a few nights ago. He could suddenly feel the icy grip of anxiety clutch at his heart. He couldn't do this. And so despite all his better judgment, he turned away and said, "It's getting late. We'd better go."


	10. Affairs with the Night

Chapter X – Affairs with the Night

_How had it come to this?_ Hermione asked herself, looking over at the blond wizard who was sleeping on his belly under her favorite lilac-colored sheets. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was not how it was supposed to _be_. The first time, it was a mistake---a simple lapse in judgment---but now… it was just a filthy sin.

She grabbed her face with her hands in frustration, feeling as though she might be sick at any second. When had she become so fickle? She sighed and sifted through her thoughts. It must have started when she hired the monstrosity who was now all too comfortably sharing her bed, she concluded.

It had all begun innocently enough. Well, maybe innocent wasn't exactly the right word but… it was all pretty harmless if not healthily interesting. She was sitting on her desk, shielded from view by the foot-high stacks of paperwork piled in front of her. It was the day after Gathaka had so inconsiderately left her department hanging in her persuit of… more romantic endeavors.

Hermione was in the middle of an inward panic attack at the thought of all of the rolls of parchment she needed to read through and sign when there was a short rap at her door. She didn't bother to clear out anything so that she might see who it was because she assumed it was a representative from one of the offices dropping off more documents that needed her approval.

She was thoroughly surprised however that this person did not do anything of the sort and instead cleared his throat and said stiffly, "I'm here about the position in the Office of Experimental Curses and Counter Curses?"

Hermione slapped herself on the forehead. She had forgotten she was supposed to see a few applicants today since one of their employees had retired. "Oh, right. Could you pass me your resume then?" Hermione piped from behind her desk, sticking out a hand above the troublesome stacks. A folder was slipped between her fingers and she quickly placed it on her lap.

"I'm sorry about this… things here have become a bit complicated. Please take a seat," Hermione called out warmly as she started grabbing a few piles and placing them on the floor. She heard a scraping as the person took his seat.

When she had shifted enough to have only a few stacks in front of her, Hermione opened the folder on her lap. She felt her heart stop and her jaw fall to the floor as she read the name at the top of the parchment in bold and imposing lettering.

"Malfoy?" Hermione exclaimed incredulously, pushing aside the remaining stacks so she could confirm that she had read the name correctly.

"Granger?" replied the sharp-featured blonde wizard in the same shocked manner as he saw Hermione come into view.

"WHAT ARE _YOU_ DOING HERE?" they screamed at each other in unison, both getting up from their seats. Hermione slid her hand down her robes, took out her wand and thrust it out just as he did the same.

"Ladies first," Malfoy muttered icily, narrowing his cold grey eyes at her, not budging from his defensive stance.

"If you _must_ know, _I'm_ Junior Head of Department here," Hermione spat at him, gripping her wand tighter in her palm.

But to her surprise, at those words Malfoy lowered his weapon, looking somewhat crestfallen beneath his tart expression. "Oh great. I'll just leave then, shall I?" he said shortly before turning on his heel and walking towards the exit.

All logical reason told Hermione to let him walk out that door. But there was something in that pitiful air hidden away amidst all that arrogance that appealed to her more generous nature. Malfoy too had lost a lot during the Final Battle---both his parents and his reputation---Hermione reminded herself. He was just trying to make his way in the world without them. Though why he'd choose to work at the Ministry… was quite a mystery. Was he trying to make up for past indiscretions? She had to admit she was intrigued.

So as his fingertips made contact with the metal doorknob Hermione sighed and called out, "No, no… please sit down. I'm sorry."

"Well that really just warms my heart but I think I'll leave. I'd rather not have to work with such rubbish," he said with stony sarcasm, turning to face her once more.

"WOULD YOU JUST _SIT DOWN_?" Hermione yelled out fiercely. The stress from her workload compounded by the frustration from Malfoy's snobbish refusal of her munificence, had just pushed her to her breaking point for the day. Malfoy looked at her, dumbfounded, obviously not used to having this tone taken with him. Hermione flicked her wand and the chair that Malfoy had just left zoomed forward, scooped him up and brought him back to her desk.

"So… why do you need this job?" Hermione asked pleasantly, getting back into her own seat.

Malfoy glowered at her. She could almost see the inner struggle going on inside of him. By the way he was twitching with suppressed rage she could tell that for some reason or another, the rich and powerful Draco Malfoy badly needed a regular nine-to-five but at the same time his larger-than-normal ego was languishing at the chunk of pride he knew he had to give up to ask one of his longtime adversaries for such an opportunity. His eyes darted to the door and back at Hermione, his eyes like daggers.

He let out snarl and said menacingly, "Let's just say that an investment of mine didn't work out as well as I thought it would. Not that you care. I bet you think I got what's coming to me."

Hermione stared at him. She knew that this man, however beautiful was absolutely rotten inside. She had seven years worth of hatred stockpiled just for him. He had gone out of his way to make life miserable for her and her friends; he had been a Death Eater; he had inadvertently caused the deaths of so many she held dear. But then… as he sat there, daring her to confirm his statements… there was something in his eyes that was just so pitiful that Hermione could not bring herself to give him her usual nasty replies.

She cursed herself inwardly. She knew what she was about to make a big mistake but she went ahead and said, "You've got the job."

"I what?" Draco spluttered, looking at her as if he had never seen anything like her before.

"I said you've got the job," Hermione said more firmly, trying her best to remember that pitifulness she had seen in him earlier as Malfoy grew livid with anger.

He stood up, shaking as if Hermione had slapped him hard across the face. He pointed an accusing finger at her and bellowed, "Look, I'm not going to be pitied by some filthy little---"

"You finish that sentence and I _will_ change my mind," Hermione interrupted acidly, now standing up as well.

For a moment Hermione thought he was going to get his wand out and hex her but he merely let out an angry breath and stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

"You're welcome!" Hermione called after him, slightly bemused by his little display. She should've known then that things were about to get very confusing.

After that incident, things were pretty much peaceful. There were nasty glances and annoying smirks exchanged between them if they passed each other in the Ministry but they didn't speak to each other unless it was absolutely necessary. Malfoy's pride obviously resented Hermione's philanthropy but at the same time he was in full recognition that she had, indeed, aided in him in his hour of need. Hermione didn't really mind the suppressed animosity at all. It was like being in Hogwarts again except with the option of a mute button. But unfortunately, this kind of peace did not last for long.

Malfoy was used to having the power of an irrepressible force. He was used to intimidating people into becoming his faithful lackeys. He was used to getting special treatment. He was used to not actually being expected to work. And all of this was unflinchingly denied him at the Ministry.

Nobody cared if his great grandfather was this or his great aunt did that. All they saw was a cocky, spoiled Death Eater's son who didn't have the skill to live up to his family's old glory. The witches and wizards of the Department gave him the courtesy of civility but did not extend to him the mindless adoration he was counting on.

Needless to say, the professionalism of his new workplace left him quite bored. He had no outlet for his more aggressive tendencies. And so, in obvious desperation, he decided to go back to tormenting the only person with which he had the comfort of familiarity. This was, of course, Hermione. And late one afternoon, he finally got his chance to have a little bit of fun.

Hermione was busy trying to concoct a longer-lasting Polyjuice Potion in one of the testing rooms when Malfoy just happened to pass by. He stopped in front of the room's glass panel and watched her struggling with her work. His old snicker crept back hungrily to his lips as the prospect of fresh banter lay so transparently at hand. He sidestepped so that he could face the door and he tapped its handle eagerly with his wand. A bright violet bubble appeared hovering at his eye level.

"State your name and business," Hermione muttered distractedly, her voice emanating from the orb. Draco glanced inside the room and saw she was busy measuring out some funny-looking liquids into glass vials.

"It's Malfoy. Let me in," he said demandingly at the bubble.

"You have no business here," Hermione coughed as a large puff of blue smoke erupted from the cauldron that she had just emptied her vials into.

"I know but I really need to talk to you about that Mirror Curse. Mitchell's got the reticulation all wrong and won't listen to me," he lied convincingly, rubbing his palms together in excitement.

"Argh, fine… you have ten minutes," Hermione said resignedly. At these words, the purple sphere popped and the white door swung open to admit him.

"Go on, I'm listening," said Hermione without looking at him as she stirred the nastily brown potion burbling atop green wood-less flames.

"Okay. I lied but---"

"OUT!" Hermione bellowed, pointing an angry finger at the door yet still not ripping her gaze from her work.

"You can't make me," Draco hissed scathingly, making sure his wand was at the ready and that his feet were firmly planted on the ground.

Hermione looked over at him for the first time that day. He looked a bit haggard with his white-blonde hair rumpled messily and his eyes popping. _Was it really that boring for him in here?_ She asked herself. She still didn't like him or anything but she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He had no friends and he had been thrust into a life he was not prepared for. Everyone needs at least one person to be on their side. So again defying her better sense, she tutted under her breathe then sighed, "Fine. Stay. But be quiet."

She waved her wand lazily and a white sofa materialized behind Draco then went back to her duties. He sank into the soft couch breathing in deeply and happily, as if something were finally going his way.

The first few minutes passed by uneventfully. He surprisingly kept his word by being silent while she worked. At first, he contented himself with looking all around the small room he had now successfully infiltrated. It was the first time he was allowed to enter one of them. As a rookie, all anyone had him doing was research. So he was very much delighted to see where the actual experimentation was being done.

All the walls, the floor and the ceiling were painted white, like every other room in their dreary department and a rectangular table was set in the middle. Hermione had placed all her ingredients on the shelves build into the white counter. Scrolls, pieces of parchment and a number of books were placed on the far right of the same workspace, a good distance away from the cauldron she had boiling atop a wood-less green fire.

Having thus accomplished his visual tour, he tried entertaining himself by conjuring a bunch of miniature toy soldiers who began violently attacking one another. But that was soon put to an end when Hermione accidentally stepped on one of them, causing mass outrage in the little figures and they all started assailing her instead. Draco then tried tracing words in the air with a dark green smoke-like substance coming from his wand. He drew things like "Hairy Potter" and "Her-heinie Granger", chuckling as he did so. But this attempt was also quashed once Hermione turned around and actually read what he was writing.

So now, there he was twirling his wand in his fingers, his eyes resting on the only other figure moving in the room. She could feel his gaze drinking in her form and it made her feel uneasy. Although she would never admit it out loud, she had always quietly thought that it was a shame that Draco was such an evil git because had grown into quite the handsome fellow.

"So… you have to tell me what you've done to your hair, Granger. You look almost human," he drawled, breaking the silence between them and successfully making all the appraising thoughts Hermione just had about him quickly disappear.

"Oh real witty, Malfoy. But didn't I say be quiet?" she rolled her eyes behind her protective goggles before picking up a book from her stack of sources.

"That's it? That is really weak, Granger---and sad. Has shagging The Weasel melted your brain matter?" he sat up, devilish delight apparent in his voice.

"No, I just don't think you're worth it. Besides, Ron and I broke up. Are you done talking now?" Hermione snapped at him, tearing herself away from the tome she was consulting to throw him a look of contempt.

"Really? So you must be shagging Potty then!" Malfoy pressed on as if he had not heard her last few words. He had left his seat and was now standing right beside Hermione, invading her personal space. The smirk he was wearing was now so inescapably bothersome that Hermione had half a mind to take her knife and slice it off his face.

"Screw you, Malfoy," she fired back at him but at the same time trying valiantly to keep her concentration on the potion she was modifying.

But as soon as she released these words, Malfoy let out a malicious laugh, put an arm around her and whispered into her ear, "Now there's an idea. You know, a few years ago that'd be repulsive but now… I think I can ignore that you're a filthy little Mudblood."

"You're sick," Hermione exclaimed in disgust, pushing him forcefully away from her.

"Maybe. But admit it… it _is_ Potty, isn't it?" Malfoy sneered once he had composed himself.

"No," Hermione said firmly as she began stirring the potion once again (perhaps with more vigor than was necessary). But as she counted the number of clockwise stirs she was making, her thoughts couldn't help but stray to how much she didn't want the kiss she shared with Harry at the ice cream parlor yesterday to come to an end.

"Do I detect a hint of bitterness there?" needled Malfoy, his eyes dancing in their evil little sockets.

"Would you _shut up_?" she spat at him, a vein throbbing furiously in her temple. How dare he? After all that she had done for him, the ungrateful son of a gun! How could she have ever thought him worthy of kindness?

"I do say I've hit a nerve!" he cried in triumph, walking around to the other side of the table so that he now stood exactly opposite her. The thick potion started burbling violently and began emitting black steam.

"If you open your mouth one more time I swear I _will_ fire you and ask security to kick you off the premises!" Hermione threatened though she could tell it was an empty one. For some reason, she didn't really want to do anything of the sort.

"Oh come on! Give me a break. All the blokes in this place are right stiffs."

"And that's my problem, is it? Get a life, Malfoy!"

"I won't have one if I go insane here!"

"Then shut up!"

Malfoy looked at her for a moment, his lips pursed in consideration. Hermione almost thought that he was finally give her some peace and quiet when he opened his mouth and asked mockingly, "Let me guess… he _isn't _shagging you but you _so_ want him to?"

"Unbelievable! You know, however hard it is to wrap your puny little mind around it; not everything is about sex!" growled Hermione, finally forgetting all about the potion stewing obliviously in front of her.

In one swift movement, Malfoy grabbed her by the chin pulling her face so close to his that there was barely an inch between them, "Of course it is, love. And there is no one who needs it more than your uptight, muggle-born ass. You just call me when you've realized that the eunuch can't do for you."

"Pansy is just so lucky to have someone like you, isn't she?" Hermione exclaimed, pushing him away again before he could do anything else.

"What Pansy doesn't know, won't hurt her," Malfoy cackled at the distress that was all too obviously splashed all over Hermione's face.

This was the last straw. Did he actually have the gall to think he might have a chance with her? Hermione took out her wand and pointed it threateningly at him. "GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE, YOU PIG!" she shrieked at him, shaking with rage.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, still smiling smugly at her, bowed and left the room.

Now that she thought back on it, she knew exactly why she hadn't thrown him out sooner than she did. She was just afraid of what it meant. She still thought Malfoy was absolutely appalling but she couldn't help but feel relieved that she now had an outlet for all her frustrations. Through all his mockery, Malfoy trivialized her problems… sometimes making them even laughable.

And Malfoy needed someone to torment so that he could still feel the sense of superiority he had been brought up to have. He also needed something to keep him from getting swallowed up by monotony.

So without any of them admitting to it, a strange sort of friendship had grown between them. They weren't going to run to each other, hoping for a shoulder to cry on or anything. It wasn't that kind of relationship. They would still have to watch out in case one of them thought of putting a knife through the other's back. But on the other hand, they both had someone to talk to, someone to pay attention to and someone that paid attention to them. And that was all both of them really needed.

"I still can't believe they let that retard on their team. Standards must really be slipping," Malfoy sneered, reading the sports page from behind Hermione's shoulder. _Puddlemere United Flattens The Tornadoes 270 to 0!_ written in big, flashing, bold letters winked up at them from the top of the page.

"And I still can't believe I hired you so… if you don't shut up, I may have to enforce those standards," she retaliated, rolling up her copy of the Daily Prophet and smacking Malfoy on the arm with it.

"You're devotion to that scar-head is pathetic. Don't you get it? _He doesn't want you. _He wants that tasty little Spanish dish," he teased her, allowing himself to sink deeper onto the coach they were seated in and then proceeded to plop his legs on the coffee table in front of them. Hermione had decided to take a break and stay at the employee's lounge and of course he had tagged along to bother her.

"I said shut up!"

"Really Granger, now that you and I are so _close_, I feel like it's my _duty_ to be honest with you," he said condescendingly as he patted her on the head mockingly.

"Eurgh," she groaned, sticking her tongue out in disgust and moving her head away from Malfoy's hand.

"Why do you even care about him, really? I always thought he was kind of boring. And together with you? Well… let's just say you'll have no trouble putting the kiddies to beddy-bye," he said, breaking out in derisive laughter.

"I don't expect you to understand it," she said frigidly, rolling her eyes at him.

"Come on, now. I _really_ want to hear this," Draco grinned, batting his eyelashes at her ridiculously.

Hermione looked at him, wondering how exactly to put her emotions into words. A lot of the time she didn't understand them either. She took a deep breath, collected and organized her thoughts then said to him quite seriously, "You think it's always about being entertained. Everything is fine as long as you're amused. But it's not always fun and games. The doldrums come… and sometimes you have nothing left to say. And then you need someone who can sit there in silence with you. Who'll just hold you close and make you feel that that's okay and everything else will be okay as well. And Harry… Harry is that person for me. I don't know why I didn't see it before but I suppose he always has. And I'm that person for him---he just hasn't realized it yet."

Harry was the one. Whenever she was lost, he would find her. Whenever she was abandoned, he would take her. Whenever she was knocked down, he would raise her up. Whenever she was in danger, he would rescue her. Ever since that day in first year, he had never stopped saving her. And she knew that she did the same for him.

They needed each other. They were equals, cut from the same cloth. They were soul mates in every sense of the concept. They had an incontestable bond that would never allow them to feel as truly safe or loved as they did in each other's arms.

Hermione shivered at the confidence with which she thought all these things. But that day Ron had left her, telling her he was sorry that he couldn't be Harry for her… this epiphany had struck her like a lightning bolt. All this time that she thought she had found everything she was looking for, she had missed the most important one of all: true love.

"Like I said: pathetic," Malfoy sighed, cutting into Hermione's thoughts.

"Jerk!" snapped at him.

"Bitch," he spat back.

So that was how it went for Hermione at work. She'd come in, do all she was supposed to but during her breaks, she had come to expect Malfoy's mocking presence. He would boast about all his little conquests. How he had perfected so-and-so number of curses this week, how he had picked up this witch in this pub, or how he was slowly recovering his lost fortune. She would give him cheek and roll her eyes at him and he would flare up and hurl invectives at her and say something like, "Well, if your life's so exciting, how's it going then?" She would reply but would never really tell him much about what she was up to. But then, he always managed to guess the gist of it anyway. Then the rest of their time together was spent in spiteful banter.

The more Hermione thought about it, the more she realized it probably wasn't fair that she put all the blame for the state she was in now on Malfoy. All things considered, he was just being himself. If that was more underhanded and despicable than the normal human being… well, that's just how it was. There's only so much a person could change about themselves. She was the one who had allowed him access to her in the first place. She was the one who had slowly let him in.

They had drawn their lines well and she had always thought they were both satisfied with them. But as she invested more and more of her feelings into Harry, only for them to be ignored time and time again… things got a bit complicated. And as she remembered just exactly how that came about, she couldn't help but swear and give herself a slap on the forehead.

It was the day that she had seen Harry kissing Liz in his sitting room. She almost fell over backwards in shock. She was so floored that she could hardly even remember shutting his door and apparating out of there. All she could think of was how much she just wanted to be anywhere but where she was now and how she hoped for the best the she wouldn't splinch herself in the process.

Luckily her subconscious had enough determination, deliberation and destination for the rest of her because a few seconds later she was standing on a familiar high street, blinking up at a wooden sign with a hog's head on it. Vaguely realizing where she was, she stumbled into the pub that the sign belonged to and managed to seat herself on a stool in front of the bar.

"A shot of Firewhisky---and keep them coming," Hermione mumbled at the fierce-looking barman who grunted at her before shuffling away to prepare her order. He was back within seconds pushing a small glass of steaming bronze liquid toward her.

It felt like molten lava going down her throat at first. She had never taken the stuff in her life and she didn't quite know how to handle the burning sensation she was now feeling. She let out a breath and felt the burn transform into a comforting warmth. Not even butterbeer made her feel as good. She slammed the shot glass onto the bar table, signaling for a refill.

And as she waited for her shot, she couldn't help but ponder about how sorry state was. She was hurt and quite a good deal angry at what had happened. She had done everything in her power to get Harry to see that she was the one for him but here she was, drinking her sorrows away, as invisible to him as ever. He'd rather snog someone who had repeatedly flushed his trust down the toilet than snog her. How pathetic was that on both their parts?

She downed another shot. Well, if he wanted to be stupid, then that was his business. One day, he'll wake up and realize that it was her all along but then it'd be too late. She'd have moved on and married a handsome, intelligent young wizard who thought the world of her and treated her the way she deserved to be. And Harry will live a life of eternal regret, wishing he had done things differently with her.

She was feeling much better already. Lighter, almost as if she were floating. She smiled, swallowing another helping. Who did he think he was anyway? It wasn't as if he were that handsome, that smart, that funny, or that nice anyway. And he smelled funny after his stupid little Quidditch practices.

She giggled to herself, as a fourth shot made its way down her throat. The noise inside the bar had turned into an incomprehensible buzzing inside her head. Now that she thought about it, everything was almost a bit comical. Everyone used to tease her about Harry… and for years she denied it. And now that there was no one teasing her, she realizes she likes him after all. Only problem was, it was only she who had a change of heart on the matter. It was all so stupid.

She guffawed so loudly at her own thoughts that half the people in the pub turned to look in her direction. But she didn't care. In fact, she didn't care about anything at all. She couldn't feel the pain anymore. Actually, she couldn't feel much of anything. She liked this feeling.

She raised her fifth shot glass at the bar man before draining it. Such a nice man, he was. Ugly man… but a nice man. She heard a creaking in the distance. Someone had just walked into the pub. Now this was a nice looking man, she thought, though her vision was blurring a bit. He was tall, with a perfectly shaped form, a neat pile of white blonde hair on his head and… he was sitting beside her. She narrowed her eyes at him. Actually, he looked kind of familiar.

"You! You… why are you here?" she spluttered, pointing a shaking finger at him as her brain finally registered it was Draco Malfoy. She knew she was supposed to be alarmed at his presence but she had quite forgotten why.

"Granger? I should be asking you the same question!" he replied indignantly, turning to look at her. Why was he so angry? It was a simple question. He should have some whisky too… then they could both be warm and fuzzy.

"I asked first! Oh, thank you, Mr. Head's Hog---I mean, Hog's Head," she grinned widely at the bar man who had placed another shot in her eager hands. She drank it at once, and felt the now familiar burning down her throat then the placating warmth that came after. He really was such a nice man.

"I was researching at the Hogwarts'---Granger, are you drunk?" Mafloy exclaimed in astonishment, leaning closer to her.

"No… no… I'm fine… and you have pretty hair," she giggled, reaching out and began stroking Malfoy's hair. She had always thought it looked so soft and shiny, she wondered why she hadn't done this before.

"Oh my God, you _are_ drunk. Hold on while I take a mental picture of this," he laughed, leaning out of Hermione's grasping range while closing his eyes and trying to perfectly remember what he was seeing in front of him.

"Picture? Oh, I saw a nice picture just a while ago," she blurted out, as another shot glass was pressed into her hands. She really did see a nice picture… Harry was being so sweet to that girl a while ago… they were both so pretty, weren't they?

"Okay… no more happy juice for you," said Malfoy, stopping her hand before it tipped the liquid into her mouth. He gently pried it out of her grasp and handed it back to the bar man together with Hermione's balance.

"You know, you're not as bad as I thought," Hermione hiccupped, vaguely remembering that the nice-looking man who had just paid for her drinks was somehow supposed to be evil.

"I appreciate that, now come on," Malfoy said, standing up and placing Hermione's right arm around his shoulders and helping her stand up and walk. This feels nice, she thought happily.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him, still sober enough to know this wasn't something her companion usually did for anyone, much less her.

"Because you're drunk and I'm horny," smirked Malfoy as they stepped back out into the high street.

"What?" Hermione cried out, a strange jolt of sobriety coursing through her.

"Because you're drunk and you're my boss," Malfoy corrected himself, taking out his wand in preparation to apparate.

"Too bad. I liked the other reason better." Hermione didn't know if it was what happened with Harry, the alcohol or just the fact that Malfoy seemed extremely delectable tonight that made her say all that but right now it seemed to make perfect sense. Whatever rationale was governing her now, she gave into it. Throwing all caution to the winds, she placed her arms around Malfoy and kissed him. Surprisingly enough though, he willingly kissed back.

"Your place or mine?" he asked her as they both broke away for air.

"Mine," she breathed before forcefully pressing her lips onto his once more.

When the passion had fizzled out, Hermione and Malfoy were sitting up in bed with as much distance between as the mattress permitted. The tipsiness that hung over Hermione just moments before had almost completely disappeared. All that was left was the slight warmth and the buzzing.

She wished it hadn't disappeared though because now her mind was sober enough to understand what had just transpired between Malfoy and her. She clutched at the sheets, trying to cover as much of herself up as possible as regret began clawing at her insides like a blood-hungry beast. She wondered if she was about to be very, very sick.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was peacefully drumming his hands on his lap as he looked up at the ceiling. A tiny smirk was peaking out from the corner of his mouth saying all too plainly that he was quite delighted at this stroke of luck.

She cursed him under her breath. Here she was, silently imploding while he gloated over his performance! This had to be some kind of a mistake… a nightmare of some sort. She snuck a peak at herself under the sheets, just to make sure this was all actually happening.

"You know, no matter how many times you look under there, you're still going to be naked," Malfoy snickered.

Hermione threw him the nastiest look she could pull at that moment but it only made him laugh even harder. "You shouldn't be so jumped up. I always knew you wanted me. And really, you've got to admit, Granger… _that_ was something else. Didn't know you had it in you!" said Malfoy, clapping Hermione on the shoulder.

"I was drunk, you moron!" she lashed out at him in frustration.

"You were sober enough just a moment ago," Malfoy replied, a smug smile dancing across his perfect pink lips.

"Shut up! This means nothing, you understand me? We are not a couple and we are _not_ friends," said Hermione, careful to pronounce every syllable with utmost clarity.

"Who said we were?" Draco laughed.

"And not a word about this to anyone," Hermione said threateningly, looking at him with her eyes narrowed.

At this, Draco leaned over to her. She thought he was going to kiss her but he only smirked and said, "Like I'd really want to broadcast that I'm actually cavorting with someone like you."

Normally, Hermione would have hit him for a comment like that. But right now, she felt relieved at the sound of it. This meant that this little escapade could stay hidden at the back for their minds for all eternity and that Draco did not expect anything else of her. It was just what it was. No love, no strings attached.

"Good," she said simply.

"Good," he sighed, sinking back onto the bed with his head resting on the palms of his hands.

Was he about to sleep? Hermione asked herself nervously. He was an idiot but she didn't want him to leave her alone with her thoughts just yet. There was retribution to be had there.

"Want to do it again?"Draco raised an eyebrow at her. Apparently, this was his answer to the uneasiness that etched itself on Hermione's face. _Wonderful… just wonderful_, Hermione thought helplessly.

"I hate you," she muttered darkly, reaching for her pillow and smacking him hard across the face with it. Malfoy merely laughed.

She had promised herself then that it wasn't going to happen again. It was a mistake she had made because she had wanted to feel something other than the pain and disappointment from watching Harry snog another woman. It was a mistake she had made because she had somehow wanted to get back at Harry… and who else would get to him more than his arch nemesis, Draco Malfoy? It was a mistake she made because she was drunk and Malfoy, however loathsome he really was, had managed to come off as sweet and dashingly handsome that night when she had desperately needed to be with someone who wanted her… no matter how shallow their reasons were for wanting her.

It was an honest, perfectly understandable mistake that she would never let herself make again. And surprisingly enough that didn't seem as hard an endeavor as she thought it would be.

Although Malfoy had kept his word and did not "broadcast" their little affair, he found other ways to infuriate her. There were the sexual innuendos and the smug suggestions he let slip every now and then, the roguish winks and pucker up faces he made at her when they passed each other in the hallways, and the overall annoyingly more confident air that he had adopted that implied that she would somehow be crawling back to him for more.

Although Hermione had never explained what her motives were for coming on to him that night, she knew that he understood that she had only used him to numb some deep-seated pain. But he simply chose to act as though it was he who had had done any using, preferring to concentrate on the fact that he had successfully taken advantage of her.

He did become more bearable as the days went by (as he probably found some other witch to cheat on Pansy with) but it only intensified Hermione's resolve not to do anything to restore his more-aggravating-than usual cocky swagger. If only things were that easy when it came to Harry.

She knew that this was not a competition or a game. It wasn't a question of whether she won, lost or had the best marks or not. She was in love with Harry and she was in it for the long haul… but that's exactly what made things more difficult. There was no formula, no blueprint, no master plan on how to get your best friend for nine years to see you as more than that. All she could do was open up to him, help him do the same and hope with all her might that he'd realize just exactly how much they completed each other.

It was kind of like hitting two birds with one stone. She genuinely did want to help him with his closure issues. She would've done it earlier if things had been less hectic with both of them devoting so much time to building their careers. But the fact that she knew she was the only one who could really reach him now conveniently worked in her favor for other, more romantic purposes as well.

It took a lot of time and effort on her part but there were moments that came along that made it all worth it, strengthening her hopes and renewing her vigor. Sometimes she could almost swear that he would look at her in the same way she looked at him---as if the other was the only person in the room and that was okay. Sometimes she would feel it in the tingle in his touch or the way he fumbled with his words… that maybe---just maybe---he was falling in love with her too.

But all those fuzzy feelings soon dissipated after she took him to the Ministry of Magic. After bearing their souls, clutching each other in a tight embrace and almost-kissing, suddenly Harry was pulling away, saying it was late and they should be getting back. But the worst of it was that before they parted ways, Harry had turned to her and said, "You're a great friend, Hermione."

He could have used the Cruciatus Curse on her and it would probably be less painful than hearing those words again. This was the last straw. It had taken every ounce of her willpower to put herself forward again and push aside all of the hurt and dejection she had felt when she walked in on Harry and Liz kissing. She wouldn't and couldn't do that again.

Maybe she was wrong about Harry after all and maybe… Malfoy was right. Harry didn't want her. How many times did he have to pick Liz over her before she got that through her head? She had been so stupid. How could she have ever thought they were soul mates or anything close to that notion? If they were meant to be together, they would be by now. It wouldn't be so easy for him to dismiss her. And as she thought all of this, she felt all the confidence she had ever nursed for their love being eaten away by doubt and defeat. It was over. This was the last time she was chasing after him.

On the bright side, it all hadn't gone to waste. Harry was now truly moving on with his life. Maybe this was a sign for her to do the same. She thought of Malfoy. She didn't have to think when she was with him. He would take her, no questions asked. It was a free screw for him and she needed someone to kiss away the pain. True, it wasn't the fulfilling relationship she should be looking for but for the meantime, it was as good as she was going to get.

And that was how she ended up where she was now: on a bed next to the one person she swore she would never touch again. It was actually all her bloody fault. She was the one who hired Draco. She was the one who had blindly invested her feelings in Harry. She was the one who let everything out of control.

As she reached this conclusion, she threw the sheets draped around her body aside and walked to her shower. She felt dirty and repulsive but most of all ashamed. What had happened to her? She was Hermione Granger for crying out loud! She had always been the logical one and yet she had really messed things up for herself this time… and all for something she thought was true love.

She fumbled with the knobs but managed to turn them just right so as the temperature of the water that splashed down on her was pleasantly warm. A nice, warm shower had always calmed her nerves. She would imagine that all her negative feelings would be washed away with the grime.

"Oi! You want some company in there?" Draco called, the sound of the running water waking him from his slumber.

"No… no it's fine, Draco. Go back to bed," Hermione replied, trying to hold back the tears forming in her eyes.

"Is that a Mudblood thing? Hot one moment and cold the next? Ah, nevermind. Don't bother answering. You're just a shag, after all," he muttered tartly. She heard a rustling and guessed that Malfoy had gotten out of bed and was now getting dressed.

She waited until she heard the distinctive whooshing sound from her grate before sliding down her bathroom wall and breaking down, her tears mixing in with the shower water.


End file.
